The Balance and Contrast of Yin and Yang
by Frozen Aura
Summary: FF6 postgame. A couple scientific abnormalities barely hint at what will soon follow. Surprises and secrets will be revealed, and heroism itself may be thrown into question. First person narration, from both canon protagonists and OC's. Book one of two.
1. A Mutual Emptiness

_Author's preface: This story is told in first-person for the most part. Some narratives are from in-game characters, others from originals. I've inserted notes to indicate changes in scenes and narrating perspectives (change in s & n), a change in perspective within a single scene (in n) or change in scenes within the same narrative (in s)._

_In this fanfic, magic, the Empire, and Kefka remain dead and gone, but the events of this story are built directly upon the events of Final Fantasy 6. What could happen in this post-Gestahl, post-Palazzo world void of magic? Plenty. New ordeals, friends, and enemies are sure to be found. This story is rated fairly, based upon strong language, intense violence, and implied suggestive content._

_That said, I hope you enjoy the post-game story of Final Fantasy 6: The Balance and Contrast of Yin and Yang..._

**Chapter 1: A Mutual Emptiness**

_ …It's not the net result of one's life that's important…_

_ …It the celebration of life…_

_ …of one's life…_

_ …of life…_

_ …life_

_ Li…fe…_

_ …_

"Damn it!" I snapped awake immediately, frustrated that my own words were once again taunting me as I slept, words that I'd spoken with a newfound confidence at the time. Granted, I knew more at that time than I did the previous year about the subject in question, but that wasn't saying much.

Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I sat up in my bed and felt at my oversized blue nightgown. Despite having slept under just one sheet and a single blanket, I was drenched in sweat, my nylon nightdress clinging to my skin. The dreams had been going on for a while now, but they were becoming more frequent, and more tantalizing.

I glanced at the clock on my night stand and walked to the bathroom, tossing my sweat soaked nightgown and under garments into the hamper. I didn't have time for a full bath, but a quick sponge bath would suffice. I was going to meet up with Sabin today and didn't want to keep him waiting any longer than necessary. The train ride to the capital was long enough.

I finished washing up, grabbed some new undergarments, and sifted through my chest of drawers for something to wear, clothes that would allow for ample movement. I had no idea of what I'd be learning today, but Sabin had implied that more interesting techniques would follow. I finally settled on short black boots, a black leather skirt, a black strapless top, and a gray belt with a hand-crafted buckle, made from silver mined right here in Narshe. I than topped it off with my ruby studded necklace and tied my long green hair back in the usual jeweled hair band.

In the kitchen, I heard the sound of children outside. I looked out the window and saw a group of young kids boarding a chocobo-drawn carriage, most likely bound for one of the town's many youth academies. I couldn't help but remember the orphans who once lived in Mobliz, whom I once cared for after the great collapse. I thought a role as their caregiver was my true calling back then, but the facts were still the facts. Mobliz was set out in the middle of nowhere on the veldt, a very dangerous region with its assortment of monsters. And I really wasn't a person to take on the role of 'mama'. I had so few memories of my own mother. The children were better off where they were now, just as I was better off without the pressure of such intense responsibilities. Raising dozens of children who'd lost their parents would be a tremendous undertaking, even for a person who'd lived a normal life.

_A normal life._

This latest taunting dream must've rattled me even more than the previous few. I didn't want to habitually think negative thoughts again, and this latest thought pattern was making me feel depressed already. I needed a wake up call, so I boiled some water and made a cup of hot chocolate. This did the trick, the hot, sweet taste fueling every nerve in my body and clearing all the depressing thoughts from my mind. I grabbed my leather purse, clipped it to the side of my belt, and grabbed a purple wool sweater from the closet, since the lawns and rooftops looked a bit frosted. Leaving my house, I began walking.

In the three years since Kefka's death, Narshe has boomed into an industrial metropolis. According to the last census I read in the newspaper, the town itself is now home to about 900,000 residents. In The Figaroan Monarchy, it is second only to the large capitol that surrounds the castle. Electric generators, powered conveniently by windmills, stick up here and there throughout the city. Electric heating and lighting is common place in just about every building now, business or residential, though fireplace heating and kerosene lamps are still used sporadically. Coal is not the only product of the mines, as several types of rock, metal, and natural gas have also been discovered. The newly constructed railway system frequently runs back and fourth through the mountains between the city and the northern edge of the capitol.

After walking the half mile from my house, I arrived at the station. The train I usually caught to Figaro was nowhere in sight, but its whistle could be heard approaching from the distance, so there was no hurry. I pulled my ride pass from my purse and showed it to the guards at the station entrance. In the waiting area, I took a seat on the bench and looked at the horizon. One of those small ships was floating about, most likely on its way to the landing zone near the Lete River. I never would've thought Setzer would come up with the idea of small cargo airships, since he generally enjoyed having the sky to himself. But after Edgar discovered several blueprints that Setzer had lying about in the Falcon's drafting room, the former mentioned an idea to the latter about using smaller airships as a quick means to transport supplies to the various towns and villages that were rebuilding, and in some cases, expanding after the fall of Kefka.

Setzer agreed, under the condition that they be nothing more than simple transport ships used for moving cargo and not passengers, and the mechanics of both Narshe and Figaro Castle began developing the airborne cargo vessels. Setzer made quite a bit of money off their development, since he designed the machinery that would later be used.

My view of the mountain was suddenly obstructed when the train pulled up alongside the boarding platform, the conductor's announcing "Figaro-bound train" through the train's loudspeaker system. I stepped aboard and took a seat next to the window. Yes, Edgar was a technical genius. It was under his guidance that Figaro had become the leading country of the world, at least machinery and technology wise. Once magic left this world and the shattered continents began to mend the damage caused by magical beams from the Warring Triad, Edgar oversaw the revitalization of many towns in his kingdom, Narshe and South Figaro being a few. With his down-to-earth personality, all-around optimism, and magnificent engineering skills, Edgar was a man full of surprises.

But the biggest surprise was that he'd finally found a woman who took to him, and he did his best to keep her interested. No more stupid flattery and empty compliments exchanged for a one-night stand. No more cow-towing to any young woman he came across. It was amazing that he'd finally found someone special.

_ Found someone special. _Suddenly my thoughts were torn away from Edgar's accomplishments and refocused on a subject of which I knew absolutely nothing. Most everyone I knew closely was involved, or had at some point been, in one way or another. Locke and Celes had each other, and from the looks of things, so did Gau and Relm. Setzer once had Daryl, and now he had numerous flings. Cyan and Clyde, who still insisted on using his alias of Shadow, had both been involved at some point in their lives, despite both respective marriages ending tragically. Edgar even managed to hook his brother up with a woman involved in spiritual studies, and she and Sabin were happy. Mog had other moogles who'd returned to Narshe from their hidden exile, Umaro most likely didn't have the intelligence level to understand intimate relationships, and Gogo vanished before even revealing…_its_ true gender identity.

I still felt like I was left out of something, as if I weren't already. Setzer often called this 'little girl naivety', and while he wasn't totally serious, I understood all to well his point. In some ways I felt like a little girl, even younger than some of the orphans I once took care of. It can get so depressing when someone half your age or less knows more about life than yourself.

_Cut the shit Terra. Moping got you nothing back than and will get you nothing now. _I mentally snapped myself out of self-sympathy. I have gown tried of feeling sorry for myself, tired of pleading to others, even to my own friends, to find answers that I should be able to find on my own, tired of getting emotional and crying enough tears to fill the oceans. When that man arrived in Mobliz and we had that talk, I learned just how much I _didn't_ know about life. I knew that if I were to experience life and discover all its facets and dimensions, I had best leave the depression and dependency behind.

The train finally came to my destination and I stepped off, Sabin waving to me in the distance. I was discovering what it truly meant to live, slowly but surely. I allowed myself one last thought on the subject. _I know what love is, but knowing this is only one piece of the puzzle._

_change in s & n_

Up, down, up, down.

I gazed at the motions of the newly modified ore crusher as it rose and fell upon the raw materials piled beneath. This was a benefit of working in this relatively new mining facility. I got to work with all the 'big toys'. True, I no longer had the recreation of chewing the fat with the moogles like I did back when I worked at the mines in the city, but that also meant that I no longer had to put on those thick, hefty boots and wade through the 'dung caves', ankle deep in moogles feces. Still, there was something about this new position that didn't make it feel like an equal tradeoff.

Tossing my hair over my shoulder, I switched off the ore crusher and switched on the louder sifting mechanisms to separate the good materials from the useless crap. I was still jubilant from my recent personal victory a few days prior, and wondered how this much time had passed without me hearing any word of it from the talking heads. I considered myself lucky this much time had passed already.

No sooner had this crossed my mind then a Private or some other low-level grunt from Narshe's army appeared next to me, yelling something that sounded like a mumble over the sifting machine. I turned off the sifter and removed my safety goggles and ear plugs as the noise died down and the back-and-fourth motions of the sifter came to a halt.

"Leonard Gurosawn?" asked the soldier.

"That's right," I replied. That's me, Leonard Gurosawn. A skilled mining field technician. What else is there to say? The world sees me as nothing but, at least objectively speaking. I won't comment on their opinions when their emotions do the talking.

"The Major would like to speak with you, immediately". The man stressed the last word with a foreboding tone. I knew what was coming, even before he added, "Find a stand-in. This could take you a while."

Word had gotten out regarding my demonstration of fighting for oneself by any means necessary after all. The voice in the back of my head began a common sense lecture. _You knew that Major Blockhead would find out eventually Leonard. No good deed goes unpunished._ I found another miner to operate the sifter and followed the soldier out of the room, into a larger chamber within the complex.

Welcome to Shedairah Mining Facility. It's a bunch of tunnels and chambers under the jurisdiction of the Narshean military. Of course that makes sense, as it's directly underneath Shedairah Military Base, which is nestled in the Hyaxulan Mountains northwest of the town. After the world became rebalanced and the monsters that plagued the town either left or were driven off, this military installation went back into business just like the rest of Narshe. Then came the 'odd, accidental discovery', as it was often called. Military scouts found what appeared to be an oil well deep under the ground in the mountain caves, and before long, several other valuable minerals like copper, diamond, quartz, and other assets were discovered. They soon converted the caverns into a mining colony. Figaro has been our biggest supplier, since they manufactured much of the heavy machines used in the mining work. In return, the people stationed here have sporadic communication with Figaro, and a good amount of what we dig up and refine here is sent there. With all these technological breakthroughs, what reason would you have not to live in the Figaroan Monarchy? Well, nasty taxes, I guess. But that's just standard procedures. I'm not complaining.

After a series of stairwells, the man led me to a lift that went above the mining area and into the actual military base. A few more corners and doorways later, he took me to another lift that went to the upper levels of the base. Normally, I wouldn't be allowed in this restricted area, seeing how it was only for classified military staff. Still, I hardly felt elite considering the reason I was here. Major Blockhead was not my C.O., but he was my boss all the same. I couldn't help but wonder how he'd reprimand me for my act of justified aggression. Certainly not a Captain's Mast or a court-martial. I'm not military personnel, at least not _on paper._

Moments later, I was led the Major's office. Major Blockhead was sitting at his desk pulling a wad of chewing tobacco out of a small canister.

"Major. Here he is," said the grunt.

The Major looked up and put the shit-like wad in his mouth. "Thank you , Private. Leave us." he answered. The soldier saluted, palm to his forehead, and walked out, shutting the office door and leaving me alone with Major Blockhead.

The Major's name was actually Major Adin Bozwensc. I just called him Major Blockhead on account of the exaggerated squared shape of his face, and for another less humorous, more personal reason.

After some loud chews, he made eye contact. "Care for a seat?" he asked, pointing to the chair in front of his desk.

"No thanks." I wasn't in the mood to relax. I wondered if the Major would tear me a new asshole during this meeting. I had to be ready for his abrasiveness.

After more sloppy chews, he began. "Leonard, a few days ago, a civilian tech like yourself was found battered in the lower section of the refinery. Once coherent, he claimed that you were responsible for his injuries."

_So the gates of conflict have opened_, I thought to myself. I took a deep breath and stared out the office window to collect my bearings. The mountains of Narshe are typically brown in color, but on this day the overhang of dense white fog made them look more gray. There were several patches of green on some of them. I looked beyond the mountain gorge to the southeast, the direction of Narshe, though it was impossible to see any part of the town from this angle or distance, even without the fog.

I turned back to the Major. "You must be referring to Quentir Braslino". Now there was no turning back. The Major eyed me coldly as I continued. "Well, there _was_ an incident between him and myself, that part is true. But what I did was above and beyond justifiable. Putting it mildly, he crossed the line. He made some screwy remakes, ranting all this shit about how 'I was horny' and that he'd 'get me off' or 'make me enjoy such and such'." I used my index and middle fingers to emphasize that I was quoting. They weren't my words after all. "After this drivel he crossed the line, putting his hand on my stomach and rubbing it up to my chest. He did not touch the 'spot' at least, but I presumed he was trying to grab at my nipple. I don't know if this was the case because I didn't give him a chance after a split second of his…contact. I grabbed his offending hand, bend a few fingers backwards, and, well I'm sure you know the rest."

The Major's face contorted as he stopped chewing and squinted his eyes. "So you admit to assaulting him?"

"I admit to the _act_, but there was no wrong doing. He asked for it."

Major Blockhead cringed again, and his voice became sharper and more serious. "He's the medical ward Leonard. Did you know that?"

"No I didn't. That would explain why I haven't seen him around since." I did my best to conceal my contentment, but the Major noticed anyway. Quentir's broken jaw had healed. He was now able to speak and antagonize me. That would explain the amount of time passing between the incident and this interrogation.

The Major's face appeared to soften a bit. "Leonard, you know that when bad feelings emerge between those who work at this facility, there are people like me to help." He was just saying these words to be systematic. I knew they were empty words. "Why did you not inform me of this conflict, but instead take matters into your own hands?"

It was the question of questions, and had two sufficient answers. I gave off the most obvious one. "I'm a grown man. I fight my own battles. This is not grade school. That means doing whatever is necessary. There's no point in burdening others with my personal affairs." I kept the other reason to myself.

The Major was out of questions. My answers were not his preferred answers. Every single attempt to make me to second-guess myself or feel some kind of regret over what I'd done had failed. He spit out his tobacco wad and stood up. "You should be ashamed of yourself!" He was nearly shouting. "Your father was one of Narshe's finest. Don't you know how much he did for the town?" His lips curled back, revealing teeth stained brown from constant tobacco chewing.

"I know how much his actions cost people who had no say and weren't willing to pay that price." I kept my composure. This was going exactly as I expected, and would most likely get worse before this one-on-one concluded.

"Your father would be ashamed of you Leonard." Now he was shouting, his eyes burning with rage and contempt as he pointed squarely at me from over his desk.

"I know that," was my matter-of-fact reply. I did not have to say 'I'm glad'. The Major already knew my feelings about my old man.

His square face loosened up. His voice was quieter now but still plenty hostile. "I'm putting you on restroom watch until further notice".

_ Great, _I thought. _Now I get to clean the restrooms after a bunch of grunts conclude their 'chugging competitions'. I get to scrape a quarter- inch thick layer of secreted G. I. vomit off the bathroom floor. Then I do the same to walls in the mess hall, only to slap on an equally thick layer of low grade coating that will fade after a few weeks anyway. Jobs like those are usually reserved for first month new recruits. Here I am just defending myself against some shit head who thinks he can waltz right up to someone and get all touchy feely after making sexual 'jokes', and now I get reprimanded like a common thug, the EXACT KIND OF PERSON HE IS._

The Major opened the office door and called to one of the soldiers outside. "Nesh! Take this insubordinate to the restrooms. He'll be doing RW now. I don't want those dishonest hands anywhere near our mining equipment or valuable materials." The soldier motioned and I followed.

Dishonest? Of all the fucking people to use that word on someone else. Major Blockhead should look in the mirror. He'd been looking to reprimand me for a while now, and my 'wrong doing' gave him the perfect chance. Damn my father's influence. I was not my father's son by any means, and his lapdogs like the Major would be sure that I'd regret it. I chose not be like Dad, and now I suffered the consequences. 'Major Blockhead' was the perfect insult. He wasn't someone that any right-minded person would trust at all.

People didn't learn anything. After the Empire and its renegade General were officially destroyed, life started getting back to normal. Greed, disloyalty, and all-around power-mongering came back with the everyday dealings of life. The great collapse taught so many people nothing.

There were some good people in this world. Who was that rag-tag motley crew of war heroes and heroines from all walks of life and all corners of the world? Right, the Returners. Damn my forgetfulness. They fought the Empire and all it symbolized, tried to right its wrongs even with limited strength and manpower. Even after the great collapse,they fought its warlord general who single handedly reshaped the face of the planet with magic. At least there are some worthy people in the world like the Returners. But I'd never met them in person. And given my meager life, damned if I ever would.

_Correction._ I did see the King of Figaro once, during a seminar when he unveiled the latest development of radio communications equipment. Maybe his sister was present as well, but I was just a simple face in a huge crowd. There had been the well-publicized Returners' Victory Feast at Figaro Castle once, but I missed that, having been doped up on painkillers after an on-the-job accident the day before (speaking of which, you never forget the smell of burning flesh, especially when it's your own).

The soldier led me to the restrooms in the army barracks. He went to the supply closet and took what I'd need. Time for a grunt's work. Oh well, at least I got to be the karmic punishment that spoiled, over-glorified rich fucks like Quentir Braslino often deserve but never receive. I'd taught him a lesson about invincibility, being that he didn't possess it. If it weren't for his money and his family's connection to my own, he'd have been sentenced to execution a long time ago. His crime carried that kind of sentence. I could almost envision myself on the firing squad. In so many ways he was just like my brother….

As I looked a huge dried vomit stain in front of the urinals, I curled my lip. Thinking along these lines had only put me in a foul mood. I decided to change my focus. Given my current work state, I chose to think about being alone. I grabbed the chisel and began scraping the crusted puke stain.

People will often talk about living and dying alone like it's a bad thing. I must ask, why? After all, those who live and die alone have something; freedom. They are free of prejudice and persecution. Ask yourself this; would you rather be alone, or tormented?


	2. Memories and Questions

**Chapter 2: Memories and Questions**

"Focus Terra. This isn't like throwing a punch. You have to focus first in here" Sabin pointed at my forehead, then to my outstretched fist "before you can get the results from here."

"Using magic was no different. We had to command something to happen before it actually would take effect," I said, drawing analogies.

"Indeed. But remember that blitzes are not derived from a magic source, but from that of one's mental spirit. The command comes from somewhere else. Focus on mind more than soul. It is connected to discipline rather than emotion."

Finally, I was getting familiar with the mental aspects of the blitz art. Until now I'd only been training physically. I suppose being half-esper gave me enhanced physical capabilities beyond those of a normal woman, enhanced stamina, agility, speed, and the like. I accomplished flips without using my hands, or jumping against a wall and then cartwheel off, managing to land on both feet. Upon mastering these agile maneuvers, I learned to impale and behead burlap practice dummies with my bare feet and hands.

Still, I'd never attempted the sophisticated practices, such as the Aurabolt. I always knew the blitzes were different from magic, but I'd never considered how that was. "Well okay, Sab. What say I try again?"

"Sure. Remember. Mind, not heart and soul. Disciplined thought, not emotional feeling." He spoke over my shoulder as I extended my clenched fist again. I'm so glad that Marielle taught him the proper use of tooth paste and breath mints. The last thing I needed was to have my old friend, and new blitz sensei, giving me instructions decorated with barbeque sauce breath. How many other people eat spare ribs for breakfast anyway? At least she taught him there's such a thing as body odor, and that he in particular had a nasty one. Even if her status as a priestess forbade marriage, they were essentially still partners, in every other sense of the word.

This time I noticed something different. Granted, it wasn't much, but it was something new. An orb appeared at the tips of my knuckles, in a shade of silvery green, not the whitish silver of the Sabin's Aurabolts. The orb grew larger until it was three times the size of my hand. Then it shot forward, slamming into the large gray obelisk that I'd been aiming for. It collided with a brilliant flash, and fragments of the stone sprinkled to the dojo room's marble floor. The flash vanished and there was a huge spider web crack in the stone's center.

"Right on Terra!" Sabin said, a large smile on his face. "You pulverized that stone's ass." He clapped his left palm against his right fist to stress his point.

"Huh? I only cracked the surface. It's still standing, and mostly in one piece."

"But you got the basics of the technique. It took me longer to learn it. I didn't do that much damage on my first try, as you just did." He patted his large hand upon my shoulder.

"I guess that displays how great my teacher is, and how much his late teacher would be proud". About three months after I'd left the Mobliz and arrived in Narshe, Sabin's teacher Duncan had passed away. The doctors said it was heart failure, possibly caused by physical overexertion. Prior to his death, his desire was that his students begin a school of their own. Sabin set one up north of Figaro Castle, in the area that would later become the immense capitol. He'd mentioned this to me in a simple conversation during one of my visits. He was seeking potential students, and at that moment, I had the idea to be one of them. I felt it would give me something to focus on in life, a goal, something to keep me from falling back into the timid oh-woe-is-me crowd and show me just how much there was to life. I did little more than sleepwalk for the first eighteen years of mine.

Naturally, Sabin was enthused that I'd be his first pupil. And he even made it worth my while, omitting all the strict aspects that served no purpose but to make one feel resentment towards their instructor, much like Vargas had against his own father, Duncan.

"Yay Terra. You're the m…..WOMAN!" Gau was smiling and clapping his hands, cheering me on. He was dressed much like Sabin. A tight shirt with the sleeves torn out, loose silk pants that tightened at the waist and ankles, and brown low-cut leather shoes. After Kefka's death, Gau took residence in Figaro to be with Cyan, Edgar and Sabin. He went to a Figaroan youth academy and became civilized. He bathes, eats with utensils, talks normally without referring to himself in third person, and has discovered the proper use of the toilet. He hasn't shaken the idea of the wilderness being the perfect urinal, but that idea is engraved in the minds of all men.

"God damn it. Hold still!" I turned from Gau to the direction of that energetic, high-pitched voice commanding him not to move. Relm sat cross legged against one of the dojo's marble pillars. She has grown quite a bit, and is only an inch or two shorter than myself despite the eight years between us. She was dressed casually in her typical dark purple bandana tied around a lavender head scarf, a pink tank top, faded jeans, and black sandals. Pencil and sketch book in hand, she'd been drawing a sketch of Gau, until he began applauding me for my very first Aurabolt. Just a month after she and her grandfather Strago returned to their hometown of Thamasa once Kefka fell, Strago came down with health problems. He was soon unable to eat solid foods and became limited to fluids. His cause of death was some kind of liver disorder. I thought Strago's passing would bring Relm closer to her father Clyde a.k.a. Shadow, but she still had yet to reconcile with him. Though she no longer despised him like she did when he first broke the news, there was still a huge amount of tension about her whenever he was present. She also relocated to Figaro, to be with Gau.

I looked Relm up and down as she lectured Gau on how to be the proper drawing subject. She hasn't changed as dramatically as him. Her short blond waves have now grown to long blonde locks that hang just below her chest. She is not a pure blond like Celes, but more of what I would describe as 'caramel blonde'. She was ranting to Gau in the type of speech she used when exited, be it from jubilation or discontentment. Her words get spoken a mile a minute and get decorated with plenty of hand, and in this case, foot stomps. I couldn't help but notice the worn out condition of her jeans. The leg openings were mostly frayed, there was a hole in one knee, and another near one of the back pockets that looked as though it would burst open if subject to any more physical abuse. I then looked at Sabin and asked, "Break for a little while?"

He nodded and called out, "Relm. Terra and I are going to rest for a bit. Bring us some of your finest". He walked over to a small table with a few chairs around it and took a seat. I followed.

"Oh. Um…okay". She ceased scolding Gau and ran out of the training room in a more joyous manner.

"Relm's more than just an artist now. She has been spending lots of time in the castle's kitchen studying the art of food". Sabin licked his lips. Anything food-oriented made him hungry.

Minutes later, Relm returned carrying tall glasses filled with ice cubes and yellow liquid. She placed them at the table between Sabin and I. "Here you are, Sensei and Big Sis," she referred to Sabin and I respectively. "Arrowny's finest. Delish' and nutrish'. Good for mind, body, and soul. Fresh squeezed iced lemonade a-la Relm". She smiled, showing off her dimples, and bowed forward as performers do after giving a performance. I wasn't surprised at what I heard next.

A loud ripping sound from behind her.

Her eyes suddenly widened, and her mouth dropped open. She squinted, feeling about behind her, where Gau appeared with a mischievous grin. His eyes glanced to a direction that he knew they shouldn't. Relm's cheeks reddened. "Ummmmmm….I'll….be….back". She stuttered, then turned to Gau with a voice that mixed teasing and embarrassment. "You….didn't see shit". She bolted out the door again, this time covering her ass with one hand.

"Awwwww. C'mon toots. You know me". Gau followed her trail in a more leisurely paced walk.

Sabin laughed as he took a sip of 'Arrowny's Finest'. "Yep. Those kids never cease to humor me, though they're not quite kids anymore. Not like when we first met them anyway." He abruptly stopped laughing and looked over at me. "Oh sorry. I forgot. The talk of kids isn't an easy subject for you, considering that you miss yours."

I sipped my drink and returned his concerned look. "Sabin. Talk of children is okay. But referring to those I once cared for as 'mine' is what I seek to avoid. They're not my children and they never were. I only called them such because I was overly emotional back then. I realized such when that man showed up."

"What man?" Sabin looked blank.

"I thought I'd already told that story".

"I was either not around or just plain oblivious. If you're okay with doing so, tell me again."

"Not a problem." I took another sip of lemonade and began the story that brought me around to reality almost three years before.

_Begin flashback_

It was a few weeks after I retuned to Mobliz upon Kefka's demise. There were plenty of demanding tasks at hand, but I felt it was all worth the hassle, as I was doing it for the children. There was the reconstruction of the damaged buildings, the revitalization of the crops, the issue of safety from veldt creatures, the issue of the childrens' schooling. So much to do that I knew nothing of where to start. Duane had been relentless on rebuilding, so I left that and all relevant tasks to him. He insisted that we all stay in the village, but Katarin was equally adamant that we relocate. I sided with Duane on that issue, since I had no idea where else we could go and where we'd stay. Nonetheless, staying right here presented a slew of other problems that would have to be dealt with one by one.

I'd taken to the crops, since I felt the urge to be outside overseeing the children. During that time, I'd routinely seen the second oldest child after Duane and Katarin, a twelve-year-old named Kevin, looking out at the ocean for long periods of time. I thought nothing of it, and just believed he enjoyed the view. But as time passed, he was soon joined by his eight-year-old sister Brittany, to whom he'd say "Soon. Not much longer." Still, I never thought to question either of them, as it seemed trivial, maybe just their way of dealing with their parents' death. The reality of their situation was beginning to sink in.

And then it happened.

On this day, the children were out playing under my watchful eyes while I attempted planting some wheat. Kevin and Brittany were both standing near a hedge with anxious looks on their faces, looks of restlessness more so than worry. Then they walked over to a dead oak and sat with their backs to me.

I stood from my improvised planting and heard something. The children typically paid it no attention, but I had specifically trained my ears for it. It was the dogs at the village entrance. They were barking, just as they had when an unfamiliar person entered, or when Phunbaba would invade. I looked to the entrance pathway. A tall man in his late 30's or early 40's with short-cropped blonde hair walking toward the village. For a gut-cold second I thought he was a surviving Imperial soldier, because his clothing resembled that of the Empire's troops. But as he got closer I could see his uniform was more of a dark blue than brown. Still, I wondered who he was and what business he had coming here. I walked into my house and looked at him through the window. I pulled the scimitar from the closet and went back outside, prepared to do whatever was necessary should he become a threat. He stopped and cleared his throat. "Kevin. Brittany." He called their names in a somewhat raspy voice.

I tensed up, not sure what to think. I pulled the scimitar from its sheath. How could this stranger have known their names. Just who was he?

I got my answer a second later, when both the children he called turned around to face him. Their faces brightened into ear-to-ear smiles and they ran up and greeted him with hugs. Brittany then shouted out "Uncle Richard!"

I relaxed, let out a deep breath, re-sheathed the scimitar, and put it back in the house. This man was the uncle of two of the orphans, and they clearly were overjoyed to see him. He patted both children on their shoulders. "I heard all about the huge bright beam that spread destruction wherever it touched. I wished I could've come sooner but with all the chaos from various monster attacks and the need for my presence elsewhere, I could do little more than read your letters. I had so little time to even respond. But I am here now. So is it true, there are only children left in this town?"

His niece and nephew both nodded in unison. I just stood there out of sight, still catching my breath. I also felt it wise not to invade their little reunion.

"I see," Richard replied. "You know what this means? Pack what you have." Kevin and Brittany exchanged blank looks, and Richard explained more. "Your father told me once that if anything were to befall him and your mother, he wanted me and Aunt Stefania to take you in. It's come to that eventuality".

All at once, I realized what this meant. My emotions took over and all logic in me was voided for the moment. "No! You aren't going to take my children from me! You can't do that!" I ran up to the trio, suddenly gasping and trying hard to keep my balance.

Richard looked over at me. " 'Your' children? And who might you be?"

I had slowed my breathing in an attempt to speak clearly, but I stuttered a little. "T-T-Terra. My name is Terra. I've been caring for all these children for the past year, ever since I stumbled upon this ruined village after the great collapse."

He eyed me. "So you've been taking care of them while awaiting me to show up?"

I paused, trying to find the right words. "Well, not exactly. I had no idea you were coming at all. I simply felt needed when I arrived here. The children immediately took to me. Most of them began calling me 'Mama' and continue doing so."

Richard laughed, but then his face bore a serious look as he asked me a question. "Mama? Terra, how old are you?"

I could tell he was analyzing me. I was reluctant to answer him but somehow I managed. "Nnnnnnnn-nineteen. Why?"

I knew what was coming. Reality was now coming back to me, as much as I tried denying it. Simply hearing Brittany say 'Uncle Richard' had opened my eyes to something I'd never considered before. These two children had family in other parts of the world. Others probably did too.

Richard spoke again. "At your age, being a 'mama' shouldn't be a concern. Aside from being far too young to be a mother figure for one child, what have you done in your life that makes you feel you're worthy to take on the motherly role for all these orphans?"

I hesitated. I thought to mention that Katarin was an actual mother two years younger than myself, but that would do little to answer his question. I ingested his words and tried thinking of a worthwhile answer, and it hit me. What _had_ I done in my life that would have me deserving the 'mama' title? Only a year prior, I'd said my name for the first time in my whole entire life. I knew little of my own background. Once I became aware of it, I felt like an outcast, a human-esper hybrid crossover, a freak of nature, an isolated majority of one. To top it all off, I had few memories of my own mother. I began wondering if the answer to Richard's question was more for my benefit than his.

I finally gave the best answer I could think of, still an honest one, but unsatisfactory all the same. "I felt they were in need and that I should help out. I just wanted to lend a hand." My voice was weak and shaky.

Richard nodded. "I appreciate your concern, and understand your willingness to care. And I applaud you for your efforts. But if you truly care about all these children and their wellbeing, you'll hand over the caretaking to those better suited for the task. There are far too many children here for just one person to take care of, and this village is too far gone to rebuild. It's too dangerous out here on the veldt. The children deserve better. They need both a mother and a father figure in their lives, for they have emotional needs that you yourself simply can't meet. And Terra," he looked me in the eyes directly "from the looks of things, you also have emotional needs you must deal with. If you truly care about the children as you claim, you know this is what's best for them, and for you".

I looked at Richard's jacket and saw something that I'd missed before, an insignia of sorts. I'd seen one exactly like that before in South Figaro. There was a naval port near there, where naval ships often docked, some local, some from Nikeah. The staff at the port wore a uniform much like his, and I put the pieces together. Richard was a naval officer, a Lieutenant judging from the stripes on his sleeve. I was talking to a military man, someone who had knowledge and expertise comparable to the late General Leo. I now understood why he could read me like a book, even though I gave such miniscule answers to his questions. Who was I to argue with him? He was twice my age at least, and he was the uncle to a pair of the children after all. In Kevin and Brittany's case, he had more of a right to take them in than I did.

"I understand". My voice was little more than a whisper and my legs were so weak that I had to sit on a nearby rock for support.

"Very well. I've been preparing for this occasion for some time now. Back home in Nikeah we've put up a boarding house for the children to reside in while they await adoption from extended family or otherwise. Organizing all of this is partly the reason for my long overdue visit. I have a ship docked just south of the village. Brittany, go to the others and tell them I've arrived, and that I'll take them all to Nikeah where they'll find new homes and families."

The eight-year old nodded and ran to tell the others. I looked at Kevin and simply asked, "How? And why didn't you tell me?"

The first part was simple. Kevin explained that he knew how to catch use carrier pigeons because he'd often sent letters for the injured ex-Imperial soldier who was bedridden before the collapse. A plant full of berries which the pigeons ate had survived the attack, and the birds were taken as carriers when they'd flock to the bush for feeding.

The second part of my question had a more complex answer. "I wasn't sure how to explain it since you were happy with us around. I thought if I told you beforehand, you wouldn't believe me, or that you'd feel hurt in some way because we'd be leaving. I just thought it was best that you only find out once Uncle Rich here," he gave his uncle a pat on the back "stopped by in person. I knew you'd find out, one way or the other". Kevin finished his explanation and ran back to the village, leaving me with Richard.

All I could do was nod my head. I was still numb. My sole purpose of living during Kefka's reign and after his death was now being taken from me, and I'd never seen it coming. The very people who helped me discover the essence of love, my first and greatest desire in my under-privileged life, were now going away. And I'd only hurt them if I tried stopping it. I wanted the best for them, and there was no way that I could deny them that just to fill a void in my own heart. At the moment, that void was growing larger than I thought it ever could, even larger than the one I felt after learning of my crossbreed heritage.

The children had very little to pack up. Much of what they once owned was destroyed, and considering the peasant state of Mobliz even before the collapse, they had very little possessions to begin with. I watched with tearful eyes as they walked towards the awaiting ship, carrying bags of their limited belongings, two of them taking their pets, the guard dogs. I gave each child one last hug, which they returned twofold. Finally, after they all boarded, Richard turned to me. "Thank you for all that you did, but realize that you've done all you can now. The rest is out of your hands. You have a kind heart Terra, and I admire you for it. But now must search your heart and your feelings. Your place may not be here, but you have a purpose. One day I'm sure you'll find your missing link."

"Thank you," I replied through sniffles.

"With time you'll heal. Farewell, Terra." And with that he turned and walked off toward the ship, and the awaiting children on board. I watched him enter, and watched more as the ship pulled away and sailed off into the ocean. I stared after the boat until it vanished amid the sparkling blue waves, and continued staring for an undetermined amount of time afterward.

I lost track, but once the sun had set and the sky darkened, I heard Katarin's voice behind me. She, Duane, and their child were now the only ones left in this village, other than myself. "It's getting dark. I know you must be depressed beyond belief right now, grieving so much that words cannot describe your heartbreak, but it will do you no good to dwell on this and absently gaze out at nothing. Come in. I'll make you supper."

"Thanks," I answered with a shaky voice "but I'm not hungry." I started walking back to my house, than stopped to look at Katarin. "You can relocate now, as you've been wishing for some time. There's no reason for you to stay here any longer."

"What about you?" she called after me.

"I need to be alone now. My services are no longer needed. Just leave me be." I walked into my house and shut the door behind me. Then I laid down on my bed and cried.

The next several days were a blur. I became totally withdrawn, doing little more than cry while awake. I only got up to eat whatever Duane and Katarin made, since I wasn't making anything for myself. One night I went to sleep and woke up the next morning to find my pillow and sheets soaking wet. I'd been crying in my sleep and didn't even realize it. I was hiding from the world, sulking in the most heartbreaking ordeal I'd ever experienced. I felt totally self-conscious, a grown nineteen year-old woman quivering in bed like a cowardly girl, too frightened and weak to cope with life. I was totally ashamed of myself for being so reclusive, so helpless, and so unable to control my emotions, or even understand them. The children would be happy where they were going. I couldn't figure out why I'd become saddened.

One day, Duane came to my bedside and announced that he, Katarin and their daughter were leaving Mobliz for Tarynsen, a suburb of Nikeah where his grandfather once had a carpentry business. They urged me to leave Mobliz as well, saying I had to move on if my shattered heart were to mend itself, and that staying here wouldn't help the healing process. We said our good-byes the next day, and I looked at the pigeon aviary, finding one last bird. I wrote to Edgar, explaining how the uncle of two of the orphans had come from afar and had taken all the children with him to be put up for adoption, that Mobliz was now deserted, and that I just wanted to leave it behind and head to Figaro for the time being. I sent the letter off with the bird, packed my limited stash of belongs, and waited. Setzer arrived with the Falcon three days later.

_end flashback_

"And you know the rest of the story, I'm sure." I took the last sip of my lemonade.

"Intriguing story," Sabin replied as he finished off his own drink.

"I soon realized why I felt so depressed. It wasn't the loss of the children that hit me, but more the realization of just how much I hadn't lived up to that point, that I put so much stock and emphasis into discovering love that I thought of nothing else. I'd gotten emotionally dependent upon the children whom I cared for."

"But don't think it was a total waste. After all, you learned a valuable trade while there, and you've put that to good use. You've made a healthy amount of GP playing 'Aunt Terra' to the children of Figaro's finest while they attend to business. You no longer need Edgar to finance your pad in Narshe. Plus you don't have to be so busy anymore."

"Yeah, that's true. More free time is always a pleasure, but I still have yet to find…..whatever else it is that I am lacking".

Sabin put his hand on my shoulder again. "Well Terra, you can always count on us. I know that what we've been through, all that we've done together, has taught you that". I heard the sound of flip-flopping sandals coming closer and saw Relm appeared, in a new pair of jeans, to remove the empty drinking glasses.

"I guess break time's over now. Shall we continue?" I stood up and stretched.

"Certainly". Sabin got up and we returned to the obelisk.

A few more greenish-silver Aurabolts did the trick, shattering the six-foot-tall stone into a slab surrounded by head-sized rocks and gravel. I was so grateful for Sabin's blitz training. I'd finally learned some of the emotional discipline exercises to contain my depression bouts. Anytime I got into a bad train of thought, I snapped myself out once I became aware that I was resuming old habits again.

"Looks like we're out of time for today." Sabin glanced at the clock, than gave me a smile. "You've done enough damage for this session". He pointed at the shattered obelisk and admired my handiwork. Gau appeared, loading the larger fragments into a trash cart and sweeping up the gravel with a broom and dustpan.

"I'd best be off". I grabbed my purple sweater off the back of the chair and slipped it on.

Sabin gave me his signature 'big brother' hug. "Feel free to stick around or wander about. Stop by and see my brother. Goddesses only know what he's producing in the workshops now. Something that makes life easier in any case. See ya' next session."

I waved goodbye and walked out to the street. I did feel like going to the castle as Sabin had mentioned. I flagged down a southbound chocobo carriage and stepped aboard. The train I took to and from Narshe had yet to be extended all the way to the castle. Like so many other projects, Edgar most certainly had railway expansion in the works.

The carriage dropped me off a couple blocks from Figaro Castle's south entrance. I walked a little before stopping a corner. Something there caught my eye, a newspaper machine displaying the day's paper in the window. The front page headline grabbed my attention, so I pulled a few coins from my belt purse and dropped them into the slot. **The Daily Voice of Figaro** was printed in large black letter font across the top of the front page, the title of the capitol's newspaper. I scrolled down to see the headline I'd noticed before, appropriately titled 'Tension Grips Southern Region'.

Riots in the Albrook area were escalating. These had been going on for a while now, what with the underclass rioting against the wealthy nobility and government officials, but the violence that accompanied such protests was increasing in ferocity. A government office had been firebombed, a noble couple was beaten and stabbed to death by an armed group of underclass, their children were kidnapped to 'find new recruits', and an uptown commerce plaza had been vandalized by some extremist guerrilla group that was a total enigma.

I felt reluctant empathy. Having been used and abused by the wealthy Empire, I could understand that the lower classes of society would naturally hold grudges against those in power. The fall of Kefka and the Empire resulted in no centralized government in the southern land. Noble houses had been quarreling for a position of leadership and often used the innocent underclass against one another in their struggles for influence. Still, I truly believed that riots, anarchy, and criminal violence was not solving anything. There had to be another solution.

I'd had enough of the front page article, and decided to flip the page. As much as the Albrook riots were disturbing, the next article had a very puzzling twist to it. A Jidooran military outpost in the city of Foraziale, a few miles outside of Maranda, had been attacked. Not by rioting underclass, but from what appeared to be wild monsters.

I closed the newspaper. These two articles were cause for concern, even if their events happened on the other side of the world. I had questions, and was a stone's throw away from whom I wanted to ask them. Surely he was aware of the current happenings.

I entered the castle, and went to the throne room. Edgar was nowhere in sight. There was only one other probable place to find him, so I retraced my steps across the commerce hall and courtyard to the engine room in basement one, and took the stairs down into basement two.

The workshop and drafting rooms were busy as usual. I went with my hunch and found Edgar in a munitions room, standing over a table wearing thick brown gloves and a steel mask, welding torch in hand. The room was crowded, but the other tech workers were pre-occupied, so I figured I'd have Edgar's undivided attention, at least for a moment.

I tapped him on the shoulder. The welding ceased and he turned to remove his mask. "Why good day, up-and-coming blitz mistress Terra. Has my little brother been training you to your heart's content?" Though Edgar had tossed out the empty flattery for the most part, he still did it jokingly with old friends like Celes and me.

"The training's going fine Edgar. I'm here to ask about something else entirely."

"Oh," he replied, pulling off his work gloves. "What's up?"

I handed him the newspaper. "Have you read the front page?" I asked. "What's going on down there is quite chaotic, to say the least. A combination of civil unrest on one end of the continent and the anomalous outpost attack on the other. As a King, don't you think you should lend a hand down there?"

Edgar scratched his chin. "Terra, what goes on down in the southern land is none of my business. We haven't done trading with any of the lower countries, or city-states, if you get technical. We're currently on neutral ground with them, and they've not asked Figaro for any assistance in the matter. Power struggles between smaller nations for establishment of centralized leadership are best left alone by outsiders. The last thing my glorious dynasty needs is to get involved in a civil dispute that concerns it not."

I sighed. He had a point about staying out of conflict that didn't concern him. But the outpost attack was something else. I couldn't help but wonder if there was some odd connection, even though logic would dictate it was just coincidence that they took place in the same region around the same time. "What about the attack in Foraziale? What if something like that were to take place here, at one of Figaro's or Narshe's assets? I vaguely recall a place in the Hyaxulan Mountains that you often supply with machinery in exchange for products, some kind of mining colony. Don't you think a monster attack could happen there?"

"You must be referring to the Shedairah Mining Facility." He smiled. "I am touched by your concern, believe me. But understand, the mining place you speak of is underneath the Shedairah Military Base, under the guard of Narshe's finest. Every person there, civilian and soldier alike, knows how to deal with such matters. Their commander is an experienced combat vet. Thought his squared face is about as appealing as his snobbish personality, Major Bozwensc is no softy. Remember Terra, monsters are little more than animals, big dumb animals. The folks up in Shedairah are more than capable of dealing creatures that wallow around in their own dung. They're part of the Figaroan Monarchy, and that alone means something."

"Okay Ed. I guess you're right. You'd know better than me, of course. I shouldn't be such a worrywart."

He patted my cheek. "Gotcha. Hey, I don't mean to shoo you off like this, but I have to get back to the munitions. You know how it is. I still sometimes hate being a king."

I nodded and turned to leave. "Have fun," I called over my shoulder as I left. Maybe I was worrying for no reason. I would know. How much did I worry back before the collapse? What did it accomplish? All it did was make me unhappy and insecure. I was glad to have stopped. Maybe that's what Relm meant on the numerous occasions when she'd say 'Terra, loosen up, and get a life, 'kay?'

I left the castle, thinking to myself. _Edgar knows what he's talking about. This stuff, like politics and diplomacy, is his stock and trade._

This put me at ease. Monster attacks were trivial nowadays, save for the veldt. And what logical connection could there be between the Foraziale incident and the Albrook riots? They were totally different in nature. The answer was none.


	3. Stealthily Unleashing Hell

**Chapter 3: Stealthily Unleashing Hell**

Even after a week of using the stuff, I still couldn't get past the smell. The disinfectant used for cleaning the barracks restrooms smelled worse then the actual shit it cleaned up. Hell, a toilet filled with an eighteen-inch mound of fly-infested chocobo shit would smell better. It figured. Major Blockhead was more than eager to throw me another shitty task once I'd completed a previous one.

Damn I missed Sarge. I had worked under him back in the mines Narshe, and even a short time after I was transferred here. But soon thereafter, a re-organization of staff caused him to be transferred again. A death at Figaro Castle resulted in loss of military staff, and Sarge was re-assigned there, leaving me to work under the eyes of that square-faced asshole Major.

Maybe I shouldn't have complained too much. Blockhead put me here because I gave his favorite lackey an overdue physical punishment. I was here not because I'd screwed up or was incompetent, but for punching some money-laden, arrogant fuck head's lights out.

I never believed in solipsism, the idea that the universe around you is your dream and that stuff only happens when you think of it. The Ts'aosra'iy makes no mention of solipsism. But not a moment after I thought of punching Quentir's lights out, the lights in the bathroom suddenly died, leaving me with the sunlight coming in from the small window near the ceiling.

Power down emergency drill, most likely. They'd done those quite a few times before as a part of basic training, so there was no reason to question it. I pulled a small flashlight from one of the pockets on the outer side of my pant leg and flipped it on. It was powered by batteries, yet another one of the Shedairah mines' great products.

The whole room vibrated with a low rumble. An earthquake obviously. The Hyaxulan Mountain Range rested on a fault line. Small tremors out in this rural area were not uncommon. Loud bangs came in from outside, as though stuff was coming loss in the quake. Despite all this, the emergency sirens and ceiling-mounted hazard lights, both of which were operated by emergency power in the event of a blackout, had not gone off. Surely that was a good sign.

Five more minutes brought another few rumbles, each louder than the last, and an equal number of shakes that likewise increased in their intensity. I began to hear footsteps and shouting in the hall outside the closed restroom door. There was a knot in my stomach.

The little voice inside my head once again spewed its comments. _Leonard, you might just want to think about hauling ass outta here right now. You despise the duties of RW anyway. _Good point. Who am I to argue with my most trusted resource?

I grabbed my leather jacket off a stall door's hook and put it on, then was about to walk to the door when it came.

This was not a long, extensive shaking sound like that of an earthquake. It was a sharp, loud sound that rocked the room violently. Only an explosion could be so loud and destructive. I was thrown to the restroom's tile floor, landing on my right side. The loud BOOM was followed by the sounds of cracking mortar and twisting steel that was being pulverized right outside in the hallway.

For some indeterminate period after that, the bells and whistles of a thousand locomotives were going off in my head simultaneously, and my sense of direction was flipping head over heals. Finally, the world stopped spinning and the trains were silenced, replaced by the white noise of crackling. I stood up and groaned. My right hip ached, as I'd had banged it on the tile floor. I blinked away shooting starts and took note of the surroundings. That's when it struck me. Despite all the happenings—the blackout, the banging, the tremors, and the explosion—the hazard lights and the emergency sirens had _still _not gone off. I almost laughed at the irony. Before, I thought the lack of hazard flashes and sirens was a good sign. But now I reversed that outlook. Shedairah's troops were not stupid, and neither were its civilian mining crew. Both knew that in emergencies (such as this) they were to trigger the alarms and hazard lights. If something happened to prevent anyone from activating such devices, circumstances were greatly fucked up.

The drywall near the doorway had cracked all the way to the opposing corner of the room, and many of the tile panels lining the lower half of the wall had come loose, now laying shattered on the floor. The regular lights were back on, but flickering steadily. I ran to the door and shoved it open. As I did so, the door stopped and I slammed into it.

I staggered back a few steps. The explosion had knocked something loose that was now blocking the door. I opened it again, slowly this time. It stopped moving after four or five inches. A piece of steel lay on the floor, possibly a ceiling girder weighing a few tons, pinning the door closed. Some fires were burning in the outside hallway. The sprinklers weren't doing their job, just like everything thing else that should've been going full force after such an occurrence.

Then the smoke started building up. I slammed the door, but could still see tiny wisps of gray coming in from underneath. This was fast getting worse and worse. After gagging on the fumes of paint and disinfectant for over a week, I'd be damned if I were to perish from smoke asphyxiation. There had to be an escape from this room. I glanced at the window near the ceiling. Reaching it was simple, but its size was another matter. I'm not a large-framed guy, but I'm no twig man either. That window opening was just too small for me to squeeze through, and I had nothing with me that could hack at the wall and make it larger.

The smoke was now crawling up the closed door. Soon the room would be filled with smoke, and I'd be coughing up my lungs. I had to find an exit….._fast. _That small window couldn't be an efficient venting hole.

_Venting…_

I looked at the wall opposite the window. Sure enough, there it was, a thin metallic grate covering it up. This facility needed the right air quantities distributed at all times to all areas, and the ducts to accomplish this task had to be the ample size. It was wide, much wider than that slit of a window. It would easily double as an escape route.

I picked my flashlight up off the floor. It still worked. Then I took the 'puke scraping' chisel from the supply cart and rushed to the venting grate. I pried it off with no trouble, letting it fall to the floor with a clang. I hoisted myself up and into the venting duct, shining my flashlight up ahead. Even with my boots on, crawling around on all fours was easy, though the speed at which I did this left something to be desired. Still, it was better than nothing.

At first there was only one direction to go, so I went that way. A few areas had smoke rising into the venting ducts. I avoided those completely. After more crawling around, I came upon a path in the venting duct that went straight down. I wasn't looking to go deeper into the facility, so I crawled over the vertical shaft and continued ahead.

That became a dead end. One of the explosions had damaged the venting duct, severely dentingit inward so it became like the restroomwindow, too narrow for me to pass through. There was no choice. I'd have to use the duct passage that went downwards if I wanted to get out. So much for a shortcut.

I returned to the said passage and examined it. Shining my flashlight down, I saw it extended very deep, as far as the light's beam could shine. I could get to the bottom extremely fast if I didn't object to the sudden, painful stop at the end. For an unknown height such as this one, patience would be the virtue. I turned around, scrunching up to accomplish this, and crawled backwards, feet first into the shaft to begin the descent.

It wasn't that hard. The vertical shaft was narrow just like the horizontal ones, and I could easily wedge myself in the space by pressing my feet against one side and my back to the other. I got into a working momentum that sped up the more I climbed. I'd likely descended to the basement or even sub-basement mining levels. My back was aching a little, but with shear patience and persistence I finally got to the bottom. Another horizontal passage was my reward for the exercise session. There was a grate in the bottom of this passage, a vent in a ceiling. No smoke was rising from below, but I could hear the familiar crackling that suggested a nearby fire. I could tolerate that, so long as it didn't impede my exit path.

Pushing loose the grate, I peeked through the hole. There were no signs of life. Once again I scrunched up and turned around, lowering myself feet first like earlier, this time out of the ventilation duct. I dropped onto the solid stone floor of an ore crushing room. Some of the pistons had exploded and were burning. Flaming wreckage was strewn about, and the path in front of me was blocked off by burning and twisted steel. There was another pathway leading to a curved hall, so I took that route. A burning corpse lay on the floor. As I got closer, I noticed it was only _part_ of a corpse. The legs and pelvis were gone. Some parts of the body were untouched by the flames. The dead man's eyes stared at the ceiling mindlessly while the chest, shoulders, mouth, nose, and one arm blazed on. I held my nose as I walked past. I didn't need reminders of the burning human skin stench. I had my share from the old accident.

_Accident. _ Had this been one? An ore crusher could've blown and set off a chain reaction, but that wouldn't explain the explosions up in the army base. Nor would it explain why the hazard lights, sirens, and sprinklers all failed at once. Even down here in the mining tunnels, there were sprinklers and lights. Only the lights were on, and like the bathroom, their performance was sub-par. The emergency power generators were supposed to function better than this.

I walked along the curved hallway until I saw something that confirmed my fears. This was no accident. A soldier lay dead on the ground. There was a huge slash across his stomach from hip to hip, out of which his intestines and blood had spilled. There was no damage to the hallway and no trail of blood that would indicate he'd been placed here after being gutted elsewhere. It was true. Shedairah had been attacked, but by who, or what?

Then I found something that momentarily helped me overlook the gore, something that put a smile to my face and gave me a boost of confidence in this desperate situation.

The gutted Narshean soldier held something of interest. Ignoring the carnage, I walked over for a look, and smiled. This model had a cartridge-based ammunition supply. Its rounds weren't the fastest out there, but they were still good for mid-range and a bit of long-range accuracy, if the target wasn't moving too quickly and lacked the reflexes to block and deflect the shots. There was also a blade under the barrel. This didn't act as a weight that hampered aiming procedures. Rather, it was utilized as a weight to greatly reduce firing recoil, so the pause between shots was noticeably reduced. The blade was strong and durable though, and could deal some worthy amounts of damage when used by skillful hands in a melee. I'd only shot these on firing ranges, but was more than familiar with all their parts and functions. I pulled the piece from the dead soldier's grasp and examined it.

I removed the ammo clip from the handle and pulled back the reloading lever to empty a round from the chamber. The clip was full and the piece still had the trigger safety lock on. I loosened it, pulled the trigger, and heard the sound I'd been hoping for, the receiver clicking. The firing mechanism worked properly. I slid the lone round back in the chamber and loaded the standard eight-round clip back inside the handle.

Shedairah had been attacked by someone or something. The man's disemboweled stomach hinted at a presence of beastly attackers with huge blades or claws. For all I knew there could still be something lurking about, which I could encounter. What better was to make my first performance in military-style combat than with a functioning, fully-loaded rifle-axe.

Okay, military combat. The warriors may be different, but the war is the same for all who fight it. The King of Figaro and his band of Returners fought the same battle, despite all their differences and diverse outlooks on life, based on the little I knew. So what if I _technically _wasn't a soldier. I've a decent enough mindset to count, and I've always prided myself on my resourcefulness. Unless you're abysmally stupid, you don't spend all the time working around military personnel like I have and learn absolutely nothing.

I couldn't get too overconfident with my new discovery. It only had eight shots, and if there were any remaining attackers, their nature was still a mystery. I resisted the eagerness to break in my new find. Better to use it only when dire need arose. A small supply of ammo and the likely presence of a mysterious foe were enough to keep even the most reckless from getting conflict-thirsty.

I left the hallway and walked into a large, open room. Before I could scan the place, a ton of bricks came down upon me from above. Grunting, I elbowed myself free with limited effort and spun to point the business end of the rifle-axe at the assailant. I'm sure that the headless cadaver was real intimidated. No wonder I freed myself so easily. Of all the fucking times for an anti-climax.

I let the rush fade away and began to observe the fallen corpse. It was small, obviously that of a petite woman. The back of her shirt was torn but there was no injury beneath. I looked up and saw a piece of fabric caught on some twisted metal structure above, just below a catwalk. The woman had been decapitated and the headless body tumbled or was thrown over the catwalk's handrail, with the clothes catching on the twisted metal shards of the support column. It hung there until the dead weight pulled it down….right on top of me as I entered.

Further observation revealed this was a liquid metals processing room. The aftermath of a slaughter was everywhere. A catwalk section had fallen and crushed several troops to death, their uniform-clad arms and legs protruding out from under the fallen deck plate. Several bodies of both military and mining staff were haphazardly strewn about. Some of the dead minors held rifles and crossbows taken from dead soldiers. Many of the deceased had been shot with bullets or crossbow bolts. The civilians of Shedairah were indeed fighting spirits, but they lacked the tactics and discipline that came with military training. In the dark, with unidentified attackers charging, it didn't take much imagination to see the civilians freaking out and slaying one another accidentally with friendly fire.

Other mining workers had taken to hand-to-hand combat, going at it with their picks, shovels, and drills. The undamaged floodlight overhead was bright enough for me to notice something caked upon a drill clutched within a dead man's fists. The bit was covered with a shiny brown-yellow fluid that bore a resemblance to the runs, but it seemed unlikely this was fecal material. Could it be…monster blood?

As I crossed the processing chamber to the hallway on the other side, I saw more smears and pools of the dark gold liquid, both on the solid rock floor and on the tools gripped by the dead. On the catwalk directly over the large doorway was the body of a soldier. He or she had some kind of long, gray objects stuck inside his or her skull. Something told me they were not crossbow arrows. I shined my light up there and sure enough, they were something else. They were shaped all wrong. They looked more like small tree branches. The texture was different as well. They weren't smooth and shiny like metallic arrows, but instead were dull and rough. I was too far down to see anymore details. They'd remain mysterious for now.

I left the chamber and entered the hallway. With no signs of death in this new area, now seemed a good time to review the evidence I'd just observed. It bore some obvious signs of a monster attack. During the blackout, creatures from the unexplored subterranean depths or elsewhere had come out and kicked our asses, _big time_. Still, there was evidence suggesting that at least a few of them had been seriously wounded or even killed, given the large amounts of brown fluid. But if that was the case, _where _were they? The only bodies I had seen were those of Shedairah personnel. Did the attacking monsters leave after their victory and collect their fallen peers? This was inconsistent with a wild monster attack. All of Shedairah's workers were trained to deal with monsters. Even in a blackout, we had effective methods to counter such a threat. How had a simple monster attack caused so much death on our side and cleaned up any trace of its own losses?

So many questions and absolutely no answers. This was getting me nowhere. I was still inside the ransacked base. My first priority was to get the hell out, survival and evacuation. I could ponder all the fine points later.

Up ahead was a lift, burning and destroyed beyond usage. Oh well. I had a feeling in my gut that I'd have to take the stairs anyway. I continued along the hallway. Many of the lights in the next section had been damaged. It was in near-total darkness. I held my flashlight but thought against using it. If there was anything hostile lurking about, using the flashlight in this dark section would reveal my position instantly, and anything close by would come around and say hello with fangs and claws. The small but adequate lighting was the best I'd get.

I finally reached the end of the dark area, coming upon a decently-lit stairwell leading upwards, exactly where I wanted to go. This was surprisingly untouched, showcasing only a few broken lights and streaks of human blood. After climbing at least three hundred steps I got to another hallway. This one led to another large chamber like the processing one down below. I started walking along a metal grate pathway when something snagged the pocket on the side of my pants. The enemy? I pulled back, heard a ripping sound, and pointed the rifle-axe at the offending…chunk of broken, twisted handrail. Anti-climax number two. I looked at my pant leg. The metal had poked a hole in the side pocket, ripped larger as I pulled away, but only the pocket was torn. The broken handrail segment hadn't pierced my leg.

I looked across to the other side of the chamber. There was a large stairway beyond, the kind that usually connected the mining facility to the army base. There was only one problem in getting there. The rest of the walkway had collapsed, leaving a wide chasm of about sixty feet across and even deeper between me and my desired progress.

There's something I learned from my grandfather, who had served in the Figaroan army after a brief period of service in Narshe's; when you encounter a problem, don't obsessively look for a solution. Sometimes the best solutions come when you only give the problem mild thought. Unlike focusing exclusively on one solution, thinking about the problem in context to other thoughts can bring vital information out from your sub-conscious and into the forefront of your mind. The answer finds you when you let it come. I'd made it this far already. Certainly this latest impediment shouldn't hold me back. Yes, there had lived some worthy people whom I'd had the honor of knowing personally, even if they were few and far between. May Grandpa rest in peace.

Sure enough, I'd found a solution without obsessing over the problem. Not only was this the top of the mining facility, I was also at the top of the room. Indeed, it could work. What's the worse that could happen? I could fall off in the process, and either land on some munitions that would impale me or just splatter on the ground below. Either way, I'd be as dead as everyone else I'd encountered up to this point. Staying put or backtracking didn't present any different outcomes.

Above me, hanging from the rock ceiling, were some sprinkler pipes. Naturally they weren't functioning, but they didn't appear damaged either. They traversed the entire room and could easily get me across the chasm. I'd just need a place to store my piece since traversing required both hands. Maybe I could've found a cord or something to tie it around my neck, but I had something else in mind that didn't require anything new.

My leather jacket had a few straps and buckles under the armpits and down the sides that could tighten the size if one so desired. I clicked on the rifle-axe's trigger safety and undid the topmost right side buckle strap. It fit perfectly through the gun's trigger loop. I pulled it as tight as it would go then secured the strap and buckle.

I stepped up using the remaining handrail section and steadied myself. Then I faced the desired stairwell, put one hand around the suspended pipe, then the other. After that it was a simple task of hand-over-hand momentum. I began to traverse, mindful to keep an eye open for any sprinkler nozzle that pointed downward. I wasn't eager to hit my head and possibly lose my grip.

All I had to do was look straight ahead and upwards to keep myself focused. I felt it best to avoid a glance downwards. My shoulders and elbows began to ache, and my palms were getting sore, but the closing distance between myself and the stairway enabled me to ignore such pet peeves. Cramps and blisters were only temporary.

Then it was over. I'd completed my second physical training exercise of the day and arrived before the stairs. I dropped onto the solid floor in front of my destination, removed my piece from the jacket side straps, and clicked off the safety, allowing myself a breather for a moment.

I was now back in the military base section of Shedairah, not that this part was any better off than the mines. Some of the fires had died down but the smoke still remained, forming an opaque gray fog that hovered in the air, all the way down to the floor in one direction. No use going that way.

Along a clear hallway was door to the left. Peeking inside, I saw an undamaged Figaro-manufactured radio bank. A civilian lay on the floor face-down, his head impaled at the base of the skull. The radio phone rested in his hand. I inspected the cable. It too, was untouched. Maybe I could send a distress call.

I turned on the radio bank. It hummed to life. The guy must have been dispatched before he'd even a chance to flip the switch. I rotated the dial, trying to find a clear signal, but no matter what frequency I tried, my efforts were only rewarded with the noise of static, comparable to the Lete River rapids. The communications gear had been tampered with as well. Honestly it was no surprise once I thought about it.

I went back to the hallway and continued in the same direction as before. Another corpse lay on the ground, its face smashed or blown clean off. Something about this one made it very familiar. In fact, I only had to glance at the tattoos across both forearms before turning to the bars on the sleeve. As if that wasn't enough, the massively wide shoulders and short stubby neck were dead giveaways. This was what remained of Adin Bozwensc, also known as Major Blockhead. Only now, the facial feature that earned him such a derogatory nick had been reduced to splinters of bone and chunks of mush scattered about the concrete floor. Despite my lack of experience in mortuary work, I'd been doing a fine job of playing coroner.

I checked the Major's corpse over. He was an ass, that was for sure, but he was certainly not a wuss. He was always territorial and possessive (bordering on fanatical) of the mines' assets, and would never take kindly to intruders, human or otherwise. A sword was in his right hand, its blade broken and coated with more of that yellowy-brown shit. His armored wrist cuffs were dented and scratched, and were his shin guards and plate mail vest. I patted him down to see if he carried any thing useful, but he'd used whatever he had. Ass or not, he died fighting.

I left the deceased Major and came upon two more doorways on the left. The first was a medical room. Another corpse lay inside on one of the beds, its right arm had turned to a grayish-purple, as if it'd been doused and corroded with some chemical, or maybe even a monster's spitting acid. Like the Major's, this bedridden corpse held an aura of familiarity, and I figured another coroner's performance might lead to some new find regarding the death squad. I stepped over and took in the details.

Sure enough, it was the corpse of exactly whom I thought it was. I could not overlook that. His family had been my father's right hand, and my grudge had always been hefty. Even now, with the facial skin of his nose, one cheek, and upper lip torn away, I could still recognize the face with full clarity. The prominent sun tan, the high forehead, the widow's peak. It was none other than him.

I smiled. So Quentir Braslino had gotten the death penalty after all, in a rather odd and unexpected fashion. I let my mind flow with thoughts that I'd held back for years. _You asked for it. And here you thought that you were invincible. All your life, while you hid like a dickless coward behind your upper-class social position and your ten-digit GP assets, you always believed you were untouchable. Now look at what just transpired. While totally defenseless and confined to a hospital bed, you died a painful and gruesome death at the hands of a force that didn't give a fuck about your wealth or status. At least Major Blockhead died a soldier's death. Even in this world that has been void of magic for three years, there are still other forms of power besides wealth and deceptive influence._

I looked at the large gaping hole in his chest, and followed a trail of blood droplets to the far side of the room. A round pink object, probably a lung, sat rotting on the floor against the wall. For a moment, I wished I'd been here to witness the spectacle, but had second thoughts. Whatever mauled his ass would certainly have done the same to mine had I been present, and I'd also have been reduced to corpse meat. I suddenly no longer resented the late Major Blockhead's decision to place me on restroom watch, isolated from everyone else. Had I been down in the mines as usual, I'd have been killed like all the rest, and wouldn't be able to gaze upon the bodies of this installation's prick of a C.O. and his favorite underling.

_Attention, you day dreaming bastard! You've had your moment of triumph. Now get back to the task at hand. _The voice between my ears was pulling me from my daydream with a not-so gentle approach, reminding me that survival and evacuation were still my primary objectives.

I left the medical room and entered the next door down the hall, where I could hear a sporadic crackling sound. In that direction was another radio bank. A woman was slouched over in front the radio with something through her neck. Not quite sure if this would lead to anti-climax number three, I cautiously paced forward to look. The object was much like the ones I'd seen embedded in a person's skull down in the mining processing room, only now I could look at this one up close.

Just as I'd figured, it was not a crossbow arrow of any kind. It was rough and jagged, tapering to a point at the end. It looked like…..finger nail or bone tissue.

Something told me the noise was coming from the radio. I looked at the panel and found the source. Blood from the dead woman's neck wound had sprayed forward, and was dripping down the radio panel into one of the open slits on the side, from which the crackling, sparks, and a wisp of smoke were emerging.

Then came a new sound, the sound of flapping behind me. Only mildly curious at this point, I looked over my right shoulder and turned to see _it_ coming.

It was a dull shade of beige, and had a wingspan of three feet at least. Its antennae, legs, and all three sections of its body were covered sporadically with short, coarse hairs, and its legs ended in what could qualify as pick-axe spikes. It had this last feature pointed directly at me.

There was no time to aim and fire. I jumped to my right as the moth flew by. I'd relaxed my trigger finger to avoid accidentally firing a shot when I leapt. When I landed upon a wooden chair that broke under my weight, my entire grip relaxed and my piece clunked to the floor beyond my reach.

I rolled off the broken chair pieces, about to crawl over to my weapon when this belching sound came. I had a sinking feeling that the oversized moth had spit something, and once again, my intuition did not disappoint.

A few ice picks slammed into my left cheek, and I grunted through clenched teeth. As if the impact weren't already enough, a split second later I felt another surge of pain, like the projectiles already buried in my skin were firing extra shots of their own. Before they could do anything else I grabbed at the wet rubbery object, pulled from my face, and tossed it aside. I could inspect it later.

"You fuckin' bitch!" I cursed at the monstrous insect, not that it could understand my words. It had slowed its flight and was now steadily advancing. Then I looked toward my feet and saw my weapon. I reached out with my foot and slid my piece across the floor under my heel. When it was within arm's reach, I grabbed the handle, then looked at the flying motherfucker as it drew near.

_ That's right, come closer__._ _Now I'm gonna return your favor and introduce myself to you. I didn't collect this rifle-axe from a cold dead hand just to keep as a souvenir._

I spun over to a kneel and with one hand, aimed the gun. It wasn't really a matter of aiming this close. I simply pressed the barrel up against the pecker's thorax at point-blank range and squeezed the trigger.

A bang came out from the end, accompanied by no recoil worth mentioning. The target on the other hand, unleashed a noise like that of a high pitched whistle and was sent backwards as some black fluid gushed from the hole in its chest. The fucking motherless bastard was still floating in the air, though not as fast as it had been moments before. It was wounded, its mobility decreased.

Its mouth began to move. Would it fire another of its…..things? I had other plans, such as making sure that wouldn't happen. This close, and with the moth having lost its speed and struggling to say afloat, there was no need in shooting again. Time to put the rifle-axe to its other use.

I lifted the weapon up over my head with both hands. Like they often told Privates in training for close combat melees, aim not for your intended target but beyond it to cause maximum damage.

Aiming for the floor beneath the baddy, I swung down hard. The blade went right down the center of its head, creating a loud, wet crunching noise, similar to that of a watermelon splattering on the concrete after falling from a tenth-floor window. The moth let out a noise that sounded like a balloon deflating, its shiny black eyes dulled to the color its body, and its wings slowed down before falling limp. It fell to the ground below. So was _this_ responsible for the assault? Of course, but only in part. It seemed improbable that a single monster had performed all the death and destruction I'd seen.

I kicked the carcass. Nothing. From what I could tell, the monster was dead, courtesy of Leonard Gurosawn, Shedairah mining field technician and self-trained combatant of his—er—my own militia. No, _self-styled _militia.

Now I could examine whatever had speared my cheek. It looked like a small brown sack, much like the ones found on drifting wads of kelp in the ocean or washed up on the beach, only this sack was deflated. There were also some hard, black spikes resembling large rosebush thorns extending from the sack. Seeing my own blood on the spikes pulled me out of investigation mode.

I dropped the sack of needles and returned to the medical room that served as Quetir's grave. Was there anything else nearby that would come out upon hearing the gunshot? Fortunately nothing did. I sifted through the large cabinet in the far corner and found a medical box. Unfortunately, it had been torn open and the contents were strewn about. The various bottles of antidotes, eye drops, and general remedies had been crushed, their contents smeared about the floor. However, I did find some cotton swabs, a small amount of peroxide, and the last remaining bandage of ample size for the wound in question.

I washed my hands in the nearby sink before going to work using the small mirror on the back of the cabinet door. The wound was actually several smaller wounds clustered together. The sting of the peroxide-soaked cotton swab rubbing over the punctures was more than preferable to the pain of the spikes and their mysterious follow-up shots. I opened my mouth and looked at my reflection. The wound was only a flesh wound. The spikes had only pierced the outside of my cheek and hadn't made their way inside my mouth. I covered the wound with the bandage and once again returned to the corridor.

Soon I reached the west entry hall. This place was also showcasing telltale signs of attack. The guards who normally stood outside the doors were inside now, their throats slit. This added yet another facet to the baffling attack. Had the things—maybe an entire legion of giant beige moths—made it this far from the underground tunnels? Or had the enemy attacked from both the tunnels _and_ the surface entrances?

With all this pontificating, I began to feel a weird sensation. Fatigue, most likely. I'd been through a lot in the last couple hours, so exhaustion was expected. But there was another feeling. I felt...hungry.

I'd eaten lunch at maybe half past noon before returning to restroom watch, shortly before this whole thing started. Normally, a lunch of a banana, jerky strips, and a root beer would hold me over. But now I felt the need for a snack. The mess hall was out of the question now, so I'd need to scrounge around and find something elsewhere.

I walked into a side hall and came to an office. Anyone who'd been here must have run out once the attack commenced. This room looked orderly. A glance here would be enough to convince anyone that the bloodbath which unfolded most everywhere else never even happened. Maybe there was a small ice chest or fridge around this untouched area.

There was one in the corner. Opening it revealed only a small bag containing an apple, a small box of granola, and a can of root beer. An officer's forgotten lunch? Best not to waste good food. I finished off the forgotten meal and returned to the west entry hall, revitalized.

Outside the large sliding doors of the entrance, no one was around, personnel or enemy, so I exited the building and took in the fresh air. I was quite grateful for it, since it wasn't tainted with smoke or the stench of dead people, and it was so much better than the stale shit circulated and than re-circulated through the tunnels. After the breather I looked around for any signs of life, or death. I found neither. A watch tower stood off to the side near the perimeter fence. It looked intact, so I ventured up the stairs seeking anything notable. It was deserted. The sentries here must've run inside the base during the attack. Curious, I observed the base from the tower's window.

The radio reception antenna was broken off, as if some massive dragon or behemoth, or even a bunch of gigantic moths had snapped it apart like a toy. Honestly, I expected such, given the radio hadn't worked earlier. But seeing actual evidence of tactical sabotage made my stomach turn. I felt I'd lose the snack I'd just eaten. I looked away and descended the tower stairs.

On the east side of the exterior was yet another sign of sabotage. There was a gorge just east of the base. Beyond it was the small train that connected Narshe to this base, used exclusively for Shediarah's troops and workers. The cable car which carried people and freight across the gorge was gone. Only the support pillars remained. The cable had been snapped and the cars had inevitably fallen to the gorge below. The train was there, but lifeless as everything else. Suddenly my heart stopped and my blood froze, the reality of everything now crystal clear; Shedairah had been attacked and neutralized, and there were no survivors, save for a dazed man named Leonard Gurosawn.

In addition, the attack was stealthy, and no one but I and the attacking party knew about it. The enemy had taken out our radio communications and cut us off from transport away from this facility. The train that stopped beyond the gorge was operated by the military. If there was anyone on board during the attack, they were certainly dead as well. The world at large knew nothing of this incident.

And as I thought about it more, I realized it would remain a secret for quite some time. The people who worked here often stayed on for long shifts, days on end, sleeping in the bunks and eating in the mess hall. Miners and troops alike would come here and not return for several days. Their acquaintances would only suspect something after that period of time had passed, at least. Likewise, our last shipment of goods to Figaro had only been the previous day. Though Shediarah often communicated with Figaro, it wasn't in constant communication. Days with no contact between the two places were not unfamiliar. The people down there wouldn't have an inkling of took place up here until their next shipment failed to arrive, and it wasn't due for more than week. Shit could easily get worse in that time

Though it seemed as if the enemy had withdrawn, the possibility they'd return was likely. That they destroyed the cable car and left that big moth behind hinted they'd planned to deal with survivors upon withdrawal. They might come back to finish the job, or expand on it.

My mind raced. How I'd inform someone of this was as much a problem as who I'd inform. I knew how to use weapons and all that, but I was still a civilian with no formal military training. I knew so little about the upper brass that even their names and faces eluded me. Shit, I knew even less about them than I knew about the Reter…

I stopped.

There was no one better to inform of this. They'd done the impossible once, certainly they could do it again. After what they did, handling this could be a walk in the park. They were better suited to dealing with such things than I. The 'who' part of my problem had been solved.

I'd only met him once, quite a ways back. Plus, I really didn't talk with him. I merely shook his hand like hundreds of others at the seminar to display his newly-created radio equipment. But his people had supplied us with goods, and we in turn did the same. Surely he could help. Besides, sooner or later he'd be interested as to why his shipments from us had ceased.

Funny. I'd always hoped to meet him and formally introduce myself, but not under such drastic circumstances like these. His many inventions made our work so much easier. Plus he was married now, to a woman every bit as horny as himself, so I'd heard. King Edgar of Figaro was now above and beyond sexual misconduct, so he'd devote his time to more serious matters like this.

I went to the perimeter fence along the western side of the facility, and looked back. Despite everything that happened inside, on the outside everything appeared up-and-up, save for the broken radio tower and missing cable car. Not that it made any difference. This was a remote area, and no one but us ever spent time in this region.

I found cuts in the cyclone fence, the enemy's touch yet again. I pulled back the severed portions and exited the base grounds, keeping the rifle-axe poised, just in case anyone or anything was following me or waiting up ahead. Happily, there was nothing. The former military base and mining facility continued to sink further behind me, until I entered the forest and the trees masked it from view. My number one objective was now fulfilled. Now for objective number two; find transit to Figaro and spread word of Shedairah's fall. I had an idea for this task. I'd have to search a bit, and although time was of the essence, I had plenty for the moment.

Didn't I?


	4. Meeting Of the Fates

**Chapter 4: Meeting of the Fates**

I'd had an eventful day. I was tired, drifting into sleep while thinking about the day's previous events.

This day had started with my playing 'Aunt Terra' to a pair of twins in Figaro, ages six and eight. Once I'd sat for the twins and grabbed some lunch, I headed to Sabin's dojo for another blitz session, this one in the small terraced field outside. The arts I'd learn would get even more powerful. Once I mastered the Aurabolt, it was onto the next step. Sabin enhanced this technique to have a defensive property as well. This new part was naturally called the Aurashield. It reminded me of casting the old spells of Safe and Shell, for the Aurashield served as a defense against both physical and non-physical attacks. When properly utilized, the Aurashield could halt a column of dragon spitfire, or an entire volley of arrows or bullets.

Then there was the Air Blade, tossing out forcefully charged pockets of air at an entire group of opponents. I'd leaned this pretty quickly, and Sabin understood my talents with a sword. I took what comprised the Air Blade technique and blended it with swordplay. The result was an even greater charge of air much like a shockwave. It also resulted in a moment where Sabin and I briefly questioned who was actually playing the roles of sensei and pupil. The record was set straight as I was leaving, when Sabin said "Next steps, the Fire Dance and the Mantra". 

I didn't know why I was able to pick up the blitz art so quickly. Regardless, the loss of my inherent magical powers was now being filled with something that wasn't only just as useful, but something that could be controlled. Magical powers did not involve any restraint or discipline. I was all to familiar with how its destructive powers knew no boundaries.

I lay upon a sofa in a recreation lounge at the northern outskirts of the capitol, at the base of the Hyaxulan Mountains. Tired out from the babysitting and the fascinating by equally strenuous blitz session, I began to fall asleep.

I'd been thinking about magic not long before, so it was expected that I'd be dreaming about my father Maduin. I could see in lush detail his long silvery-green hair, his solid and shimmering turquoise eyes, the great pair of horns that pushed outwards and then upwards from his forehead, the reddish-brown tone of his skin, the rigid muscles that filled his massive chest, arms, and legs, his clawed, six-fingered hands. I wondered how I'd been named Terra _Branford_, given how I always thought that 'Maduin Branford' sounded too weird to be accurate. It was probably my mother's surname.

Thinking about my mother changed the focus of the dream. I now saw a young blonde woman crossing a bridge and entering a cave filled with lava. I saw her walk to a pair of large stone doors that opened with a loud rumbling and let out a fierce gust of wind that pulled her inside. Then I saw the woman lying on the ground in a strange world. The sky was a rich shade of purple, and the dense pine trees had a blue tint in their trunks. There were streams that shined with such purity, they looked mirrors. Then I saw Maduin approach the woman and help her up. He led her back a settlement where all sorts of creatures—great dragons, silvery wolves, transparent women with angel wings—greeted the pair with angry faces, a few even yelling curses and insults at the couple. But they didn't care how spiteful the others felt, as what they felt for each other greatly surpassed the views of others. The woman and the epser kissed, and then I saw…

…the red carpet of the lounge. I had leaned forward in my sleep, so far that I almost fell off the sofa, until I was snapped awake by my reflexes, quite startled. "Fuck!" I said aloud, hoping that no one who'd take offence had listened in.

Someone did hear, but certainly not one to take offence. Quite the opposite. "Terra," came a voice filled with laughter "where did you learn to talk like that?"

Setzer stood over me, grinning. I took a deep breath to fully awaken myself. His question was not a serious one, but I gave an honest answer nonetheless. "Uhhh…everyone talks like that, mostly everyone at least. Edgar, Sabin, Celes, Relm, yourself."

He sat down next to me. "Terra, no matter how much you grow up, I'll always see you as the little lost girl who brought us together."

I was fully awake now. "Thanks…I guess. But I'm not a little girl Setzer. I'm almost twenty-two years old. I wish to be treated like a woman."

Setzer cleared his throat. "Yes, of course. But keep in mind, there is so much about life you don't yet know or understand, stuff that most women your age have known and understood for some time now."

He was right, obviously, but I knew all this, so I changed to something I wished to know more about, something he could possibly help me with. The dream where my parents met each other gave me the idea.

"Um Setzer," I began. "How do you…meet people?" It was a poor choice of words for the question, so I knew his answer would be rather shallow.

"You get out of the house and interact with them. But you already know that. You got yourself a great group of friends."

"I know that much. But what I meant was something more specific." I worded the question differently. "Setzer, how did you meet your old friend Daryl?"

His scarred face took on a more serious look "Oh. We were friends back in the day. And we had a mutual interest in airships and the like. Plus we were always very competitive, and that kinda started off as the groundwork for some sorta relationship. Why do you ask. Are ya' looking for your special someone?"

"Well, I think that part is pretty obvious, or else I wouldn't have asked." I was frank, though not totally sure he could give me the best answer.

"At least you know that you're looking for it." Without touching, Setzer pointed his index finger between my breasts, but then shifted his gesture to point more squarely at my left breast, indicating my bust size was not the subject of his words. "Every woman needs to be in touch here. A woman's heart is one of her greatest assets." He smiled before continuing. "Things happen when you least expect them to, sweet stuff. There are so many possibilities for romantic meetings, to describe them all would be even harder than getting five of a kind. When you interact with people, it's like a game of cards. You never know what you're gonna get. And if you get dealt a shitty hand, you can always fold. If you meet shitty people, you can just move on and look elsewhere. But if you look too hard, you won't notice what matters most, and will actually overlook what you seek."

"I guess," was all I could say.

He put his hand on my back. "Don't worry about it too much. We don't need another paranoid nutcase like Locke. He alone worries enough to count for all of us, and then some. If you're gonna live life, than ya' gotta have fun in the process. And don't forget that men in general love beautiful women, and you fit that category to a T."

I laughed slightly. "You're right, on all four counts."

He pulled back the sleeve of his dark brown overcoat and looked at his watch. "Look, I was just wandering around while the Falcon was refueling at the base Edgar set up near the castle. I didn't wanna wake the sleeping beauty, but she has inevitably waken herself. I'd best return to the ship". He stood up.

"Well, nice seeing you, even if was modestly brief."

He began to leave, but looked back before exiting the lounge. "Take care Terra. And remember, ixnay on the worries, my talented, gorgeous half-esper friend." I waved good-bye and he walked outside to the street.

This was a good time to think about Setzer's words of wisdom, and there was a better place to do so than this lounge. I left the building and walked towards the mountains.

There's a small spot just past the halfway point up on the mountain trail that leads to Sabin and Marielle's cottage. I call it my 'lookout point', and often go there to look out at the Figaroan capitol and sit in thought. I walked up the path to the spot and sat cross-legged on a flat rock with my arms folded, looking over the vast city.

Setzer was right about how the possibilities of meeting people were limitless in variety. I had already gathered that much from how the Returners came together. That was not the problem. The problem was that I knew almost nothing of romantic relations. The little I knew was simply from observing those around me. How could I bond in such a way when I knew so little about how? I was born a half-esper in the esper world, literally not of this planet, then I'd been used as a weapon by the Empire for most of my life, and had no memories of childhood. I was desperate to discover the essence of human love, and my first experience with this happened in a deserted village of orphaned children, whom I randomly stumbled upon as I wandered the post-collapse world. I felt they needed me, and at the time I offered my support.

But as time went on and I discovered the feeling of love, my emotions took over, and my desire to be with the children became neediness. I wanted my love to be reciprocated so badly that I grew dependent upon them to return it, so I'd understand how it felt. Only after they were adopted had I come to realize I'd been running from my problems, with care-taking as means to do so. How pathetic. I, a nineteen-year-old woman at the time, was so desperate to find a place and a purpose that I used children with no parents to fill that empty spot in my own life. Soon after the orphans were adopted, I discovered there was more to life than love, and that love itself had much more depth than I first believed.

I continued gazing out at the distant skyline of Figaro, no longer thinking about my less-than-mediocre life experience. Instead, I thought of the present. _So I'm a beautiful young woman,_ I thought. _A very beautiful ,romantically inexperienced and sexually ignorant young woman._ Even if there were countless ways to meet people, how could I form an intimate bond with anyone? How could any person form an intimate bond with me? I knew of friendships and was grateful to have all the ones I did, and I was above and beyond feeling jealousy, but I still felt excluded in some way. Just watching how Locke and Celes would hold hands and kiss…

There was no point. Surely I was more independent than this. I didn't come to this lookout point to compare myself to others. I had independence, and that was something to feel positive about. Thinking about Locke and my independence brought about other thoughts.

He was the first Returner I had met, back in Narshe's mining tunnels. He'd promised to protect me, and at the time, being little more than an infant trapped in an eighteen-year-old woman's body, I felt the utmost gratitude for that promise. But as time passed, his overly-protective demeanor began having the reverse effect. After I left Mobliz, his guardian's mindset lost much of its original virtue. I thought he he'd get over his protective obsession. After Kefka died and we all celebrated at Figaro Castle, Locke told me to never store my regrets and failures in a medic's basement. I mentioned in turn that I was proud of him, and that Rachel would be too. Locke had learned to trust himself again. I thought his habits would change.

Yet for all he'd overcome, he still often treated me as dependent and incompetent. It wasn't intentional, but that made no difference. All those times he'd look me in the eyes and say 'Terra, I know that this must be difficult for you' did nothing but remind me of the helplessness that I tried so hard to overcome. Things were not that difficult, until Locke opened his mouth and said those annoying, degrading words, invoking memories I wanted sealed away.

I am not looking for sympathy. I once gave myself plenty and it didn't help anything. I want answers. Sympathy answers nothing, be if from self or another. It only digs up old memories of the hopeless girl I once had been. I know that he's my friend and all that, but I will not deny it. He saved my life yet isn't giving me the chance to live it out. Locke Cole disappoints me with his watchdog mindset, and I so believed that he'd moved on. A man who saved my life should be more broad-minded.

I looked off to the west. The sun had set behind the western curve of the Hyaxulan Mountains. Dusk was approaching, lights began to come on in the city, and I was feeling hungry.

I stood up and brushed the dead leaves and pine needles from my dress. I was thinking about where to go for dinner, when I heard a sound to my left. It sounded like footsteps. As the noise got louder and closer, I could also hear some heavy breathing and even the voice of a man mumbling. Though Sabin lived up here, the voice was definitely not his. I'd spent enough time around him that I could recognize his voice, even when he mumbled under his breath. This voice was completely unfamiliar.

I looked in the direction, but could only see a thick patch of foliage. The walking stopped, and the man's voice mumbled louder this time, though not clear enough for me to understand the words. Then I heard a new sound, a very loud sound. It was a combination of pained groaning and a wet, raspy gagging noise. After that came the more labored breathing and grunting, followed by the rustling of leaves on the ground.

A woman's heart is one of her greatest assets, but far from the only one. Her intuition also serves her well.

There was no mistaking it. Someone who'd been walking through the forested mountains was in trouble, possibly injured or even sick. For all I knew, it could be a matter of life and death for this person, whoever he was. I walked around the large growth of plants to the origin of the noises.

What I saw made my heart race.

_change in s & n_

The afternoon sun was shining down through gaps in the tree growth overhead. I answered a call of nature at the base of a thick pine. This was my third pit stop in the last half hour. Fortunately, privacy is not an issue when reliving yourself out in the middle of the woods. Still, I was a tad concerned that I'd been urinating more than usual. Than again I had been under extreme duress for the past few hours, so maybe it was just my nerves' way of settling down. Seeing all that bloodshed in my work place, or former work place given the looks of things, was freakish enough, and not being able to make sense of what caused it only made it that much more disturbing.

I began walking again, and had another vision spasm—if you could call it that. Every so often my vision would blur, as if I was looking at the world through a thin waterfall. But again, what else could it be the result of, other than stress. It wasn't all that much of a problem though, as the blurriness only lasted for a second or two each time. It wouldn't be a hindrance.

Several minutes later I saw what I'd been looking for. I'd heard about one from the Shedairah troops who'd done training runs out here in the forest. Now I saw the sign, literally. It was set upon a moss-covered, three foot, circular wooden post amidst some crabgrass. A thin metallic square was attached to the post with a pair of rusty screws, and bore a faded yellow silhouette of a running bird. I was going in the right direction. An arrow under the bird shape suggested the way to go, so my next direction was simple. I had long since put the safety back on the rifle-axe's trigger and replaced the weapon amidst my jacket's side straps. It seemed there would be no attacking creatures from the base out here. The rest of the way would be easy-going.

And then I finally came to it, an old dilapidated wooden shack covered with untamed plant growth residing amongst large pine trees, its doorway topped with the exact same yellow bird shape that I'd seen earlier.

Inside the chocobo stable was an old man at the desk, sleeping. The stench of chocobo feces was strong and burned my nostrils. Intending to make this as quick as possible, I rang the bell placed on the hardwood desk top.

"Oh, good day young sir, did you bring me the shipment of grains for me' flock?" the man asked.

"Uh, no. I'm not a delivery person. I'm just looking for a ride to Figaro."

The rancher smiled, showing that he had few teeth remaining. "Ahhh, Figaro. The greatest of nations of this world. They have themselves a mighty king, eh?"

This guy had lost a few bearings. Maybe the stench of chocobo dung had killed several hundred brain cells, or was the accumulated poop just a symptom of his failing mind. "I know they have a great king, and I need one of those," I pointed to the large, defecating bird in the back corner "to get there and meet him."

He looked back at the stable. "Oh yes. The chocobo is among the most noble of creatures. You should try riding that one sometime".

"_That's_ why I'm here!" I couldn't believe this shit. After surviving and escaping the doomed Shedairah facility, it was heinous that I get held back by some nutty old chocobo rancher drugged out on choco poop. Though (as far as I could tell) the clock wasn't ticking for me, wasting time is always a detriment. Thievery is not my nature, but given the circumstances, I began to consider mounting the bird and riding off without paying. Happily, I didn't have to take that action.

The old man looked at me and finally asked, "Would ya' like a ride?"

"Yes." I eased up. "How much?"

"If you wanna ride, it be 900 GP."

Ouch! I guess the old man's prices were engraved into his mind, even if everything else slipped by him. He really mustn't have gotten many customers, seeing as he was charging up the ass for a single ride. But I wasn't going to bitch. I had the money he requested, even if I had no more on me afterwards.

I pulled out my rhinotaur-skin wallet and gave him the desired fee. I shoved my wallet back into the side pocket of my pants and waited for him to bring the bird out. I mounted. "Thanks a lot," I said.

"You betcha'," he replied. "Don't forget to bring the promised pack o' grains next time you come 'round." I shook my head, initiating my ride to action and riding away to the southwest, towards Figaro.

My objective number two was accomplished. Now I could begin taking mental notes in preparation for what I'd tell King Edgar.

Shedairah had clearly been attacked with precision and neutralized, that was the easy part. The hard part was finding out by who, or what, and why. It clearly had been a kind of monster attack, but there were tons of signs inconsistent with such, like the clear sabotage of the radio tower and cable car, and the lack of any deceased or even wounded creatures (not counting the giant moth that I'd killed) despite the large amounts of non-human body fluid. The timing of the attack was in itself an anomaly. Was it just a coincidence that it happened during a prolonged power outage in which even the emergency power failed? Given that the sprinklers, hazard lights, and alarm sirens had also failed, it would appear the blackout had been pre-planned as part of the attack. But were monsters capable of such intelligence? Weren't monsters just a bunch of stupid animals?

Riding under a train track bridge, I gripped the leather reigns so tight I thought they'd liquefy under my grasp. Thinking about the giant beige moth brought another onslaught of worries in of itself. We had all been briefed on how to deal with monsters, and as such were more than familiar with the types of creatures indigenous to both the Hyaxulan Mountains and the surrounding areas. Were-rats, Dark Wind birds, Poppers Mice, and Kiwoks were all familiar creatures. Where'd this gigantic moth come from?

The most pleasant guess was that it could be either a new species or simply one that had yet to be officially discovered and added to the files. But I couldn't say with honesty this was the case. It was merely the most appealing possibility.

I pulled on the chocobo's reigns harder as sweat began dripping down my forehead. Could the moth be some kind of a hybrid, a blending of two or more creatures? What was there to deny a technology of cross-breeding monsters? And these two aforementioned possibilities were still within the realm of science.

Thinking about the espers brought yet another train of thoughts, this one even more unfavorable than the last. Naturally as a mining technician, I have always been a man of science. But don't ever think that I hold no such beliefs regarding the spirit world and the like. Far from it. Keep in mind that I'm fairly familiar with the Ts'aosroa'iy. After a horde of vindictive espers ravaged the Imperial capital a short time before the great collapse, even the most logical of people were forced to admit the existence of other worlds. What if this new creature had been something of such a world, possibly a demonic life form spawned from the lowest depth of some netherworld? It couldn't have anything to do with magic or the espers, could it? According to reports, magic and the espers had left this world forever, after the Returners brought down the renegade Imperial General Palazzo three years ago. But what if there was something else at work, not magic but another force entirely?

I never got to add extra thoughts to the topic, because my chocobo suddenly swerved, and in doing so threw me off its back. It squawked loudly, then turned and ran back in the direction of its stable. Lying on my back I suddenly realized why. In my worrisome pattern of thoughts about the giant moth's origin, I'd tensed up and pulled the reins of the chocobo into a death grip. I didn't even realize I'd been strangling the bird until now. It just threw me down to free itself.

The voice between my ears chose this time to preach. _Nice goin' Leonard. You nearly choke to death your only means of conventional transportation out here in the middle of nowhere, and now it's gone. Your transit methods have now been reduced to those things at the end of your legs, and you're still quite a ways from Figaro. You really fucked yourself in the ass now._

"And lying on my ass in the middle of this nowhere isn't going to solve the problem," I spat back, unconcerned that to all but myself, I was talking to myself. Nobody was around to hear anyway.

I got up and recalled the train that ran between Figaro and Narshe was somewhere around here, and I'd rode under the tracks shortly before. I could still maybe jump aboard one as it passed. It was just a matter of walking the distance. One way or another I'd get to Figaro. I had time, didn't I?

Then I noticed it. My cheek wound felt tingly underneath the bandage. That meant only one thing. Suddenly, I understood things I'd given little thought until now. The deflated blob-like sack with the needles spit from the moth, the secondary surge of pain after I'd been hit, the destroyed antidotes and remedies inside the medicine supply box, the sudden feelings of hunger just before stepping outside the base, the excessive urinating, the blurred vision, the sweating. I understood that before now, I'd been too preoccupied to notice, not that it would've made a difference if I'd noticed earlier.

I had been poisoned.

I _didn't_ have all the time as I once believed.

In any case, it was foolish to stay put. I started walking. I couldn't hesitate now. I felt a little feverish, and my vision continued with sudden blur spells, but giving up was not on my agenda.

I walked maybe a mile or two, then looked to my left. I was skeptical at first, but as long as I focused on my objective, a little company and conversation wouldn't hurt. I glanced at the skeleton beside me and simply asked, "Yes?" with an indifferent voice.

The skeleton was wearing striped overalls, one leg ending short at the knee. It also wore an odd hat, tall and made from fur. At the base was a wide brim lined with fangs. And there were ridiculously large ear flaps on the sides, making the skeleton look a bloodhound. It didn't have to walk to keep pace with me. On its feet were ice skates with train wheels on the blades. It pointed a bony finger at me and spoke, its mouth not moving in synch with its words. "You are a failure, Leonard Gurosawn. The worst kind of human being there is". It spoke with an extremely nasal, unisex voice.

"So I have been told as much." Maybe this wouldn't be such great company after all, but I'd heard such comments before.

This indifference angered the skeleton, for it raised its voice. "You make your mum and pappy sick. You should be ashamed of yourself."

_ Pappy? _This son of a fucking bitch was talking like those yokels from the far reaches of the Kohlingen territory. I immediately retorted back. "Yeah, and I'm not like him, so I can be proud for that much at least. The shame that he'd feel about how I turned out is mute testament to my success of being different than him".

The skeleton got fired up again, its nasal voice becoming a shout. "You only exist because your pappy's condom broke that night".

I smirked. "I got that one in grade school too. I know my folks favored my brother over myself. Now if you can't say something original, go fuck yourself, you stupid theatrics prop."

It stopped ranting. In a calmer voice it asked, "Where are you going?"

"To Figaro. I need to speak with the King about a serious matter."

It pointed its bony hand at me again. "Leave the King alone. He's got his own obligations. He cares nothing for the problems of your sub-average life." The skeleton began throwing old quotes at me, in the voices of those whom it was quoting. "Other people have lives of their own Leonard, I don't want to hear about your problems Leonard, spare me your drama Leonard, don't bug others just suffer in silence and stew in your own juice Leonard, other people are to busy enjoying life to ever help you Leonard." Again I knew all this. I had to deal with my own problems by myself. What good would ever come of asking others for help? They were too busy or too disinterested to give any. But that was not the point.

"It is no longer a question of _my_ problems now. Everyone at Shedairah has been killed, and the only ones I really hated were the base's commander and his hand-picked underling who oversaw the mining operations, who'd been a long-time nemesis of mine. As the sole survivor of the massacre, I feel obliged to get some assistance in the matter. And besides, we have supplied Kind Edgar with goods from the mines. I think he'll be very curious once the next scheduled shipment fails to arrive."

The skeleton made a noise that sounded like an entire ensemble of bagpipers playing ripped and torn sets of pipes. My head throbbed and my vision went blurry again. Once it cleared, the talking skeleton was gone. A goddamn hallucination, and a hostile one at that. This poison sure was potent shit.

I heard a noise but paid it no attention. After the skeleton, I chose to be much more skeptical of my senses. But the second time the noise came around it was louder, and familiar. Could it be?

It was. I was hearing the whistle of a nearby train, the one I'd been walking towards when I began hallucinating. I ran toward the direction of the whistle and came to the tracks. The train was coming from the direction of Narshe. This was my ride, and it was traveling my preferred route. I waited until the caboose came up, and jumped aboard from the back. In case I fell, I didn't want to get pulled under the train somehow, which could happen if I'd jumped from the side. The back was easier to grab hold of as well. I pulled myself up onto the back deck using the railing poles and nudged the door of the rear car. It was unlocked, so I peeked inside. As it was empty, I went in. The caboose was set up like an office with desks and large supply boxes set about. I sat in a back corner and gathered energy for a short while. I could've stowed away for the whole ride, but a train guard suddenly entered. I figured it best that I make first contact. If he found me here, he might think I was a train robber, and I needed an antidote.

I stepped out to explain myself "Excuse me sir but I…"

The guard eyed me and took out a crossbow before yelling in an ear-splitting voice, "TRAIN ROBBER!"

Fuck. Just what I'd been hoping to avoid. I tried again. "No, er-listen. I'm not any train ro…" the door on the caboose's front end opened up. The guard's yelling had attracted his buddies, who carried similar crossbows. One of them fired a bolt into the ceiling before re-adjusting his aim. "The next one will not be a warning shot. NOW GET OUT!"

It was no use. They clearly would not listen. Had the rifle-axe spooked them? I was very careful to not make any hand motions that could even suggest I'd draw it. These guys were more interested in shooting than in detaining and questioning people. I turned, exited the car, and jumped to the side, off the caboose's rear deck. The train, my alternative method of conventional transport, sped out of sight. I was back to walking again.

By now I was having muscle spasms. The tremors got so bad I needed to un-strap the rifle-axe and use it as a makeshift crutch. I kept going, paying more attention to the ground than the scenery up ahead. If I were to trip and fall, I might not have the strength to get back up. It was a miracle that I'd even made it this far.

Soon I was in need of deep breaths just to stay awake, and even had to stop and vomit a few times. I must've looked like a zombie, staggering about, drooling from excessive salivation, moaning inarticulately.

I kept going, trying to think about something positive. I thought about various old sayings and references from the Ts'aosra'iy in regards to perseverance, and how only when you believe that you can do something will you be able to actually do it. For a while this kept me going, even if the pace was slowed due to my condition. And just as I felt I'd make it, I looked up.

I had only gotten to the tip of the mountains on the outskirts of the capital. I could see Figaro, but no one down there could see me. I tried to lift my feet, but a sudden surge of pain in my chest took me by surprise. My vision also blurred again, and I felt my knees buckle.

I had come all this distance, already strung out from the ordeal at the base, and in spite of my efforts, I still had a ways to go. If only I weren't poisoned. Not even the most tenacious part of the human spirit could overcome the brutal effects of whatever poison that had overtaken me. The human body can only withstand so much grueling physical duress. I was now just as dead as all the rest of my colleagues. Out here in wilds, it wouldn't matter how much time I had left, if any, after blacking out. This was a rural area. No one lived out here. My long-dead corpse would only be discovered by wild beasts. Shedairah had fallen, and the enemy could easily come back for more. They might even strike Narshe next, and it would be another surprise attack too. They had all the time in the world to plan, for no one was going to expose the incident at Shedairah. Now it was official. There were no survivors.

I took a deep breath for some last words. "God...damn…son…of…a…mother…fucking…bi-" My last word was cut short by another vomiting spell. This one hurt deep in my chest, and I could almost see faint traces of blood in the puddle before of me.

Then I lost may balance and fell backwards, looking up at the evening sky. _End of the line Leonard. What will your epitaph say? Died from poisoning? No, that's just an autopsy report, and those don't get immortalized. You're going to die an average nobody. Whatever accomplishments you have shall remain a secret that will be taken to the grave with you. _Well I was dying alone, a free man. That had to count for something, right? Why did that seem less fulfilling than I once thought it would? Not that it mattered. It would be meaningless in a moment.

I looked off to my right. Some figure was approaching, but my vision was too blurry to make out any details this distance. Another hallucination most likely. Or maybe this was an angel or a goddess coming around to bring me to the other side, whatever that might be.

The figure closed in, and right after that, my eyes closed, my senses dulled, and the world went pitch black. My last conscious thought pondered what I'd just seen. A hallucination? Angel? Goddess? What else could you call a young woman with long green hair?


	5. As The Angst Lingers

**Chapter 5: As the Angst Lingers**

_**Terra. **_

_** You have done well. You have taken the opportunity to live in this world as a human and run with it. What you've done most recently should give you more confidence in yourself and your importance, for during your desire to experience life you have now saved the life of another. You don't yet know what this person feels, but gratitude for you is most certainly there. **_

_** I must go now, for the telepathy with which you and I communicate between our worlds can only last so long. You've made me proud, my daughter, Terra Madeline Branford. Until next time…**_

"Father," I mumbled softly, sitting up bed and pulling off the covers. I'd been hearing a voice in my sleep. It wasn't a distorted variation of my own voice from those tantalizing dreams, but a different voice, that of my father Maduin. Though his physical presence had left this world with the demise of magic, he was still very much active in the esper world, and had the energy to communicate telepathically. This was rare and could only happen for short intervals of time. Nonetheless, there was no better time to hear from him. These last few days were filled with pleasure and purpose.

Just two days after the 'heroine's calling'—the incident that my father mentioned—there was a celebration at Figaro Castle. Edgar had organized a party for my twenty-second birthday.

The next day brought another blitz lesson. Just like magic had its healing side, so did the blitz art. Sabin had improved the Mantra technique so the user could now heal their own wounds, not just the injuries of others. It was a practice that involved stimulating the body to heal itself more quickly and thoroughly than usual. Not that genuine medical practices were overlooked in the process, but the Mantra helped recoveries proceed much faster and more smoothly. The next step of my training would be the Fire Dance, generating waves of heat utilizing the circulation of one's own body.

On this day something new would happen. The staff at the medical facility in Figaro believed he'd be awake by this time, so I was eager to be there and greet him.

I dressed in a more casual manner for this day, and quickly slipped into a sleek, long-sleeved dark green lace top, some form-fitting black jeans, and low-cut brown shoes. I put on my ruby earrings and necklace as per usual, but decided to leave my hair loose, not tie it back in the usual ponytail. I smiled at my reflection, observing what I already knew; my light green hair came down almost to my elbows, save for my bangs, which ended around my face. Finally, I grabbed my strapped purse and slung it over my shoulder before leaving my house for the train station. I boarded my ride and thought about the 'heroine's calling' from almost a week ago.

He was young, no older than his mid-twenties, with an average frame. He had fair skin like my own, and wore his long hair back in a ponytail like Edgar did, except his was brown instead of blonde. His style of clothing was somewhat bland and dull; a faded brown t-shirt, dark green army-style fatigue pants with pockets on the sides of the legs, military boots, a dark brown leather jacket, and a pendant that hung from a short silver chain around his neck. The object on the pendant was certainly interesting, an icon of some kind that I'd never seen before. He also carried some kind of weapon used by military personnel. My only guess was that he'd been out hunting and was attacked by some creature.

Thanks the goddesses I just happened to be sitting on that mountain trail when I was, for he staggered by right then. I heard his groans and went to investigate. He'd collapsed, and a bloody pool of vomit on the ground before him told the tale. He was unconscious a moment later, and though I'd met his failing gaze, I wasn't entirely sure he knew of my presence. In any case, it was against my nature to just leave him to die.

I brought him down into Figaro, and not a moment too soon. The doctors at the hospital saw the bandage on his left cheek and knew immediately that he'd been poisoned, for it was covered with some odd yellow fluid that oozed from a series of puncture wounds.

But he was alive, and I could actually meet him now. It wasn't the first time I'd saved lives, but this was different, much different. This was personal. This was just me, Terra Branford, actually coming face-to-face unexpectedly with a man who'd been poisoned within an inch of his life. And it was because of me that he'd survived (Sabin lent a hand, but I was the one to inform him of the situation, and I personally brought this ill man to the hospital).

I was not just a war heroine now, I was someone's personal heroine, and that meant so much to me. This was not like Mobliz, where I felt obliged to do something without understanding why. I had more than good reason to officially introduce myself. Besides, like my father said, once this man awoke, he'd most likely be grateful for what I'd done, and would be just as interested in meeting me.

There was just one thing I'd forgotten to do until now. With all the concern I'd had over his medical condition, I totally forgot to ask the medical personnel that one very important question.

I never asked if they'd learned his name.

But that would soon change. Today we could finally introduce ourselves. I disembarked the train a few stops earlier than usual. I wasn't going to Sabin's dojo in the middle of the capitol's northern district, but to the clinic where my…..soon-to-be-named-acquaintance was being treated, near Figaro's eastern district. I left the train, stopped a chocobo carriage bound for eastern Figaro, and climbed aboard.

About ten minutes later the carriage stopped. I thanked the driver and stepped off. It was easy to find the hospital; it was the only wide structure containing seven stories in the immediate area.

I walked through the north side's main entrance and took one of the lifts in the entry hall. The staff said he was recuperating on the third floor, and gave me the room number when I asked.

The lift stopped, the doors opened, and I walked into the third floor hallway, rounded some corners, and prepared to make my 'debut' appearance…until I got to the man's room. An armored man, either a Figaroan soldier or hospital guard, stood in front of the closed door with a spear in one hand and a portable crossbow at his side. He didn't so much as greet me when I approached. Why was he here?

"I'm here to visit the patient that room." I pointed behind him.

But he just looked at me with emotionless eyes. "No Miss. I can't allow that." I was crushed, not mention annoyed. Here I'd saved that man's life and this guard was denying me the rightly-earned privilege to greet him as he woke from his coma.

"Do you know who I am?" I pointed at my chest.

"Terra Branford of the King's friends and Returners. That still does not-"

"More than that. _I_ am the person who saved that man, the very person who found him out in the forest and brought him here in the first place. I damn well have the right to at least introduce myself and find out his name, don't you think?"

"Policy is policy. Strangers aren't allowed to visit unidentified comatose patients. If you cannot positively identify this man, you're not coming in."

I sighed. So they hadn't learned his name as I'd hoped. At least he was still asleep. But I didn't want to chance that he'd leave without thinking to ask about who'd brought him here. Maybe this guard would be more reasonable if I got Edgar's approval to visit the mystery man.

"I'll see what King Edgar has to say about this," I told the guard and walked back to the hallway lift in a less joyous mood.

"Miss Branford, I'd strongly suggest that you not-" he called after me, but I didn't stick around to hear the rest.

I left the clinic and glanced toward the castle. It wasn't all that far, so I walked without looking for another chocobo carriage.

There wasn't much going on in the immediate vicinity of the castle. The flag of Figaro proudly waved in the mild, late morning breeze, showcasing its dark blue backdrop with the white and gold crest in the center adorned by a pair of green dragons in front of it. The massive front doors were open and I walked inside. The entry hall was a bit more active than the front lawn area, with merchants and machinery techs walking about, some pushing carts or carrying large boxes. I walked all the way to the throne room. Edgar wasn't in there, so I went back to the entry hall and into the sub-basement machine shop where I'd found him before, but like the throne room, he was nowhere in sight.

"Looking for the King again?" one of the munitions workers asked from behind me.

"Yeah." I faced him as he fitted wiring into some kind of metallic sphere with a tube sticking out one side. "Where is he?"

The man looked up at me. "He's in his conference chamber, but its gonna be awhile. He's having one of those closed-door meetings with Queen Charise, Chancellor Pierre, and General Garamonde. Is there something I can help you with? Miss Branford, am I right?"

"Terra, and no. But thanks for the offer."

"Well take care, Terra." He smiled and returned to his wiring task. I left the level-two basement and returned to the ground level of the castle.

It wasn't uncommon for Edgar to have private meetings with his wife and the Chancellor, but including Cyan wasn't a standard practice. Cyan was now serving Figaro's military, and Edgar had generously offered him the rank of a General. Not that Cyan didn't deserve the title. Far from it. To have Cyan present at a meeting closed to the main public meant something involving possible military action on Figaro's part was in debate at least, even if there were no solid plans of military action.

It was pointless to wonder about it now. The Returners would know about everything once the plans were more defined, assuming there'd be any plans at all. Right now, Edgar's conference did little more than delay my introductory meeting with Mister Nameless in the hospital. It was getting close to lunchtime, so I headed down the main street to the nearby diner.

I got there and noticed a couple sitting in the waiting room. A man in brown boots, dark blue jeans, a jacket with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and a blue headband wrapped around his short sandy-brown hair was sitting next to a woman with long blonde hair wearing a sleeveless white dress and white boots. The man looked up.

"Oh, hey Terra!" Locke greeted me as he stood. Celes did the same.

"Locke. Celes," I replied as I hugged them both at once, to which they responded in kind.

"The castle's inert for some time. How'd you two get…oh, right. The train route through the mountains, the one that connects Figaro and Kohlingen."

"So Terra," Celes began, "how's your boy?"

"My _boy?_" I blinked.

"'Boy' is just a slang everyday term for male friend," Locke chimed in, "You know who I'm talking about, right?"

I nodded. "I was just there and it appears that he's still out. Not that I actually saw him for myself. Some asshole of a guard denied me entry to his room, saying that no one can visit unidentified patients until they wake up, unless it's a visitor who can identify the person. And obviously I can't do that since I'd never seen him until that evening. I was just at the castle looking for Edgar, to see if he might persuade the guard to let me in, but Edgar's having a 'Do Not Disturb' meeting right now, so I decided to come here and eat. I guess I'll be joining you."

"Sure." Locke replied as a red-haired waitress walked up. "Table for three," he said, answering her unasked question.

We took seats and ordered our meals. Soon our food came, smelling fresh. "Edgar is having a meeting with Cyan present," I said as I bit into one of the spare ribs on my plate. "What do you suppose it's about?"

"Well, I actually know what it's about," Celes stated after sipping her wine. She began cutting into her roasted chicken. "As a former general I'd actually been contacted by Edgar on this matter, but I couldn't offer any help. Still, I'm at liberty to disclose stuff with you. Edgar just said not to discuss this with non-Returners, at least not yet. You're aware of how fucked up things are down in the southern continent, are you not?"

"Yeah. Weeks ago I read something in Figaro's newspaper about this odd attack on a Jidooran outpost near Maranda, while there were outbreaks of violence in Albrook. I asked Edgar if he thought to lend a hand down there, but he just said it'd be highly unwise for Figaro to involve itself in the conflict between the lower city-states, especially since they never asked Figaro for assistance in the matter." I took another bite of the hot juicy meat.

Celes swallowed a mouthful of chicken before responding. "Correct, but now that has changed. Lord Sireck and Lady Edrina from the House of Albrook actually made a specific request to Edgar for some kind of reinforcement."

"Oh." I raised my eyebrows upon hearing this.

"It was a reasonable request," said Locke, grabbing a few chunks of fried Figaroan squid. "It would've been un-kingly for Edgar to reject their wish, but it would be downright stupid to go about fulfilling it in the wrong way. He obviously didn't want to send any troops, so he made a deal to ship them a huge load of high-tech supplies, weapons, armors, tools, medicines, you get the gist."

I took a drink of my root beer "I thought he wanted no part in that shit storm. Why should Figaro involve itself in that volatile three-way conflict?"

Locke spread butter on a toasted biscuit. "That's where it gets complicated Terra. It's not so much of a three-way conflict now, but an all-out four-way conflict." He finished and took a bite.

"Who else is there in the mess?" I asked, scooping a forkful of sliced carrots into my mouth.

"There's Albrook, Tzen, Maranda, and there's the other, very different player in the game," Locke answered. "The, uh-" he turned to Celes. "Sweetie, what were they called again?"

Celes swallowed a forkful of diced beets. "I 'dunno actually. They're very obscure, but the best ways I can categorize them would be as armed gangs, guerillas, extremists, paramilitary fringe crowds, possibly even anarchists. It's clear they don't favor any of the noble Houses taking the position as ruler, Imperial-loyalist or not."

"Right." I finished off the last of my spare ribs. Even now, some still believed in the late Empire, though fallen tyrant provided what the southern continent now lacked. Loathsome as Gestahl was, he did not believe in lawless anarchy, even if he hypocritically broke his own laws. The Empire was a centralized form of government, something that was now nonexistent down there.

Celes went on. "So these militant extremist groups have been steadily wreaking havoc in their attempts to keep the nobles from taking power. Almost nothing is known about them. It's not even clear if these groups are connected. While the local police forces contend with the civilian rioters and the armies feud with each other, these extremists have the edge. They can operate unchecked and maintain their obscurity."

"And that brings us to the House of Albrook's request," Locke announced as he sprinkled pepper and salt onto steaming leaves of chard. "Its government is younger than those of Maranda and Tzen, and maybe that's why it's having the greatest trouble with those aforementioned groups. That's why their Lord and Lady asked Edgar for some assistance. It's not so much aid against Tzen and Maranda, but in dealing with these outlaw factions."

I'd cleaned my plate and was downing the last of my root beer. "So they asked Edgar for a shipment of supplies for dealing with these nameless militant gangs, and he agreed. So why's he having a private meeting with his wife, Cyan, the Chancellor?"

Celes polished off the last of her roast chicken. "I'm not entirely sure of that much. Maybe the extremist problem is more severe than the House first realized. They might actually need another shipment. It might mean shipping stuff that Edgar would normally be hesitant to send out like that. And it's possible there's a demand he just can't supply. Anyways, he promised to fill us in once the situation was clarified and a decision was made, and that's why we're here."

Locke finished his plate and signaled for the waitress to take our empty dishes. "Another scenario," he spoke up. "It's possible that aide to Albrook may have pissed off these extremists, and that would ultimately create a backlash and bring their wrath up here. I've a hunch that Cyan's presence in this meeting relates to brushing up on military defense should such occur."

After our table had been cleared, we paid our tab, splitting the bill into three parts with each of us paying for our respective meal. "You really think that would happen?" Celes asked as we began walking outside.

"Well, you know what happened with Jidoor. They forged a pact with Maranda, and then came the attack on Jidoor's outpost in Foraziale. My guess is they tried to make it look like a random monster attack to confuse the Jidooran and Marandan armies, and their motive was simply the tried and true the-friend-of-my-enemy-is-also-my-enemy way of thinking."

So now it seemed highly improbable that there was a connection between the riots in Albrook and the outpost attack in Foraziale. If what Locke said was true, the outpost attack was also much less bizarre than the newspaper article would suggest.

"That makes sense." Celes nodded as we left the diner and stood on the concrete sidewalk. "But also keep in mind that Jidoor actually had soldiers down there, establishing a military presence. That's exactly what Edgar wants to avoid, for that very reason."

"Edgar knows what he's doing. He's more apt at these things than we are, to say the least. Speaking of which, he's likely still tied up at the meeting. Why not drop by the flea market at the commerce plaza." Locke slipped his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket.

"Alrighty. I trust that you won't go for any five-finger discounts while we're there." Celes took his hand and they both giggled.

"Aww, treasure hunting only involves taking un-owned and unclaimed artifacts," he said through laughter. We all smiled and began walking towards the plaza.

"I don't think there's a chance these militarized underground factions would attack Figaro," I spoke up. "These groups only have their power because down there, no established government does. They wouldn't have the resources to attack a place like Figaro."

"So the Terra we all know and love is becoming ever the optimist," Locke replied and patted me on the shoulder.

I smiled and added, "Right. And through all this, there's one thing that I feel is most fortuitous."

"What's that?" asked Celes.

"There's been no bloodshed here in the northern continent."

"Oh, you're right," she said, returning a smile. "Thanks the goddesses for that."

_change in s & n_

Time had no meaning here. The very concept of 'here' was equally moot. Ideas like 'when' and 'where' did not apply to this…black void. Maybe 'black' was the wrong description, but there was no other fitting term. The accompanying sounds were equally challenging to put into words. It could best be described as the combination of rushing water with a very low hum. There was the essence of thought, but no physical sensations, not even the sense of falling or floating. There was no sense of direction either.

The thoughts were very pronounced, yet had no meaning or value. They weren't much more than vague ideas or memories. Even the 'memories' were merely those of dreams and not real life experiences.

Or were they? Visions came, fuzzy but lucid enough to understand, flooding the stream of consciousness. It was like reliving a person's entire life through their eyes, experiencing their lifetime as they once had. Not only was every single moment of a person's entire life flashing through them, but every single thought and feeling for each moment flashed as well.

The visions took on distinct meanings, developing a connection to something, or even someone. There was a great man known as 'grandfather, and than a despicable one known as 'father'. The next meaning was about a man known as 'brother'. He committed sickening crimes and had not only gotten away with them, but in one instance placed consequences on an innocent who'd never even condoned the actions. Then came a woman called 'sister' who'd run away from home and was never heard from again.

More connections followed, ones that got specific to a place and time. There was a person working in a factory when an accident occurred. There was the sharp yet sticky-sweet smell of burning human flesh and a massive grotesque scar that resulted from such, aptly nicknamed 'the spot'.

The next vision was of another person. 'Father' once had a business partner, and that partner had a son by the name of 'Quentir', who was manipulative and craved power. This vision was of 'Quentir' smirking as he cracked some jokes of a sexual nature before stepping up to touch someone. That someone reacted by grabbing 'Quentir's' fingers and bending them backwards. The vivid sounds of bones cracking and 'Quentir's' shouts of surprise and pain resonated with a massive echo. In slow motion the vision showed 'Quentir' getting decked across the jaw a few times before falling to the ground where he was kicked and bludgeoned with a piece of spare machinery pipe. There were feelings of great satisfaction in this vision. It belonged to someone, but who? There was no sense of personal being.

There was a final vision. It was not very detailed, but held a unique feel of mystery. Surely no one from any known world could be so beautiful. She had such fair skin and delicate features, her celery green hair that was tied back in a long ponytail except for her bangs which hung around her cheeks, her pure green eyes that shined like emeralds, her slender nose, her fine lips. She bore an expression of curious worry before her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open, as if she'd been startled.

Then there was the name of someone. It was a name that was very central to all the visions, as if they belonged to this person. The name was spoken slowly, as if by zombies or sleepwalkers, and it was spoken by hundreds of nondescript voices chanting in unison.

_……_

_ ……_

_ Llleeeooonnnaaarrrddd Ggguuurrrooosssaaawwwnnn…_

_ Leonard Gurosawn._

That was the name, Leonard Gurosawn. But it was more than just any name. It was..

_…my name!_

The black void suddenly changed to a generic tone of brown, and a rhythmic beeping sound faded in. There was an actual physical sensation, one of lying down on something soft. After this was the sound of breathing. _My_ breathing.

I slowly opened my eyes and let my real vision come into focus, finally looking at a ceiling light with a glass covering. I tried sitting up and felt cramps shoot through my every muscle, suggesting I'd been inert for some time. There was a cable beside me. I ran my hand along this wire, until I felt its end at the right side of my neck, attached with a small rubber suction cup. The other end was hooked up to a device that much resembled seismographs used to measure earthquake intensity. A small green light on the top was beeping, lighting up each time it made noise.

Additionally, each time it flashed and beeped, a needle would quickly slide back and fourth and leave a squiggled line on a sheet of paper underneath. The sheet of paper was slowly being unrolled from within the device.

I glanced around more. There was a large cotton swab taped to the inside of my right forearm, as though covering some injury. Presume this, I left it there and kept looking around.

I was lying on a bed in a small room. There was a table beyond the seismograph thing, and behind the table was a window, the curtains shut. In the corner was an open doorway that led to another room, with the lights off. Looking around, I saw another door beyond my feet. This one had a window in its center and was open on a slight crack. A man stood on the other side with his back to me.

I now realized I wasn't dead. The poison from the giant moth hadn't killed me as I'd thought when I collapsed in the mountains overlooking Figaro. I'd passed out, but had been taken somewhere, to this place. Of course, a hospital. And once here, the poison had somehow been cured, and maybe the cotton piece taped to my arm was related to that. But how did I get here? Who found me out in the wilds? I wondered about that when something else far more important struck my mind.

Shedairah… King Edgar…

I looked around for something containing the date, to show me how long I'd been out. To the left of my bed was a night stand with a small calendar. It had dials on the top that rotated to display the proper day and month on the front.

Almost a week. What the hell happened in that time? How was Narshe fairing? And what about Figaro? Had the Shedairah death squad struck again? And where the hell was I now?

"Mother fucking 'a," I said aloud in groggy voice. I hadn't spoken in days, and my throat stung. Still, I was loud enough for the man outside the doorway to notice. He walked though the door and stood next to the device by the bed, a long spear in hand, crossbow in his belt, and plated armor on his chest. He'd been performing guard duty outside in the hallway, and for the obvious reason.

"Hey," he greeted me. "Welcome to."

I should have greeted him in return, but my mind was already racing with more serious matters.

"Where am I?" I looked up and asked him.

"On the third floor of Starnisden Hospital," he said.

"And where's that?"

"Why, the east-central district of Figaro."

I nearly breathed a sigh of relief, but I wanted to be sure. "What's been happening here in Figaro for the last few days? How about Narshe?"

The man looked blank but answered. "Nothing spectacular. Why?"

Now I was relieved, twofold. Not only was I in Figaro, where I'd been trying to go before blacking out, nothing else catastrophic had occurred… _yet. _I'd keep it that way as best I could. There was still something I could do, and would now do it.

I pulled the cup off my neck, and heard machine gave off a sustained buzzing noise as the flashing green light died, replaced by a constant red one. The guard cringed at the noise and flipped a switch on the device's backside to shut it off. I stretched myself out to alleviate the cramps. My hair was still tied back and I was still clothed, though my boots and jacket had been removed. The boots were now on the floor near the foot of the bed, and the jacket hung on a folded metal chair behind the door.

I looked at the calendar again. Maybe another person would resent waking from a coma days late to experience their own birthday. But for me, it actually wasn't anything to get furious about. I had no one to celebrate it with anyway, and hadn't for a while now. My closest friends weren't really that close, and I hadn't the chance to see them ever since I'd been transferred from Narshe's mines to Shedairah's. Didn't one from that group in the city's mining caves join the Returners? I could recall such but couldn't remember his name. Many of them were difficult to tell apart as it was. But maybe now, since I needed to find a new place of work, I could go back to my old haunt and get reintroduced.

_Later,_ I thought. Right now something else needed attention. For all I knew, the future of an entire city-state was in my hands. I was unscathed and alive, and that was enough to be grateful for. Missing my own birthday was nothing to bitch about when I could've been feeding the flies by now.

"Uh, nothing. Just curious. That's all." I pulled on my boots and laced them up, than grabbed my jacket.

As I pulled the band out of my hair and placed it in a coat pocket, the guard asked, "Sir, would you mind telling me your name? The medical staff would like to know."

"It really doesn't take a genius to find that answer for themselves," I said, reaching for the pocket on the side of my pant leg. "All you had to do was look at-". There was nothing inside. When I looked down at that pocket I saw a massive hole, the same hole made by the broken hand rail back in the underground mines, only now it was wide enough for my wallet to have fallen through. Regardless of how and when, it was gone. There was no money in there, given I'd spent it all on that overcharged chocobo ride. But something else in there that was more important for now; written documents that identified me as a tech of Shedairah's facility. Without that, my story would be less believable. I'd have to ask if the King might contact Narshe and possibly get himself a copy of my workers ID.

"Look at what?" The guard asked.

"Shit. I lost it. But to answer your first question, my name is Leonard Gurosawn. Go ahead and tell them that." I started walking to the door.

"Why can't you do it?" He asked.

"I've something to do, so I'm leaving," was my honest answer.

He shook head disapprovingly. "Mr. Gurosawn, I think that would be very unwise for you right now. You should rest up before you-"

"I have business here in Figaro. Where's the exit?" I'd regained my voice by this time, and my tone was unwavering. "I'll come back later. This can't wait."

"That way. There's a lift that'll take you to the first floor." The guard pointed down the hall. "Just be careful, alright?" The guard didn't sound too pleased, but he was willing to let me go. His job was too keep unwelcome guests outside my room, not to keep me from leaving it.

"Definitely," I said, walking through the door to the hallway.

"Oh by the way," he said "someone came by to visit you earlier, before you awoke. A young woman. She wanted to come in but I couldn't allow that, since she didn't know you personally."

"Huh?" was my response. My sister had been missing for years now, so this visitor definitely wasn't her. Who the hell came to visit me, and why?

"She must've been looking for someone else. Could've just been a mistake," I told the guard, and continued walking down the hallway. He called something back to me, but since my hearing had yet to fully adjust, I couldn't clearly grasp his words. It sounded like he said 'terror brainfart', but I knew with absolute certainty that I'd simply misheard him. I'd inquire later.

I exited the hospital's lobby. The castle was visible off to the left. Time for an unscheduled meeting with the royal mechanic and ex-pervert.

Perhaps I could've just asked for a messenger to deliver the news to him. No, not _this_ kind of news. When shit hits the fan like this, it's always best to tell the right people, and only the right people. Just tell one wrong person and _whoosh!_, you've got a mass public hysteria on your hands that spreads like a wildfire. Best to keep things on a quiet note for now.

I'd walked a few blocks when I suddenly felt light-headed. My vision was darkening as well. This could've be the result of getting up and moving around after being bedridden for nearly a week. At least I wouldn't be hallucinating.

While on the subject of hallucinations, I now realized the green-haired woman was anything but. Obviously, _she_ had somehow brought me here, and was likely that visitor the guard was telling me about. There was no other explanation. The misheard words of 'terror brainfart' might've been related to that.

I could start looking for her once I'd talked with the King. She was certainly looking for me now, so I'd return the favor. I was alive because of her. A face-to-face was more than proper, and I was naturally curious.

I walked a bit more, faster than wise under my semi-awake condition, and suddenly felt myself staggering. I actually tripped over my own feet and would've banged my head against a lamp pole had I not grabbed it to stop myself. If this clumsiness kept up, I'd be taken as seriously as a drunken circus clown with amebic dysentery when telling my story. I decided to wait a few minutes and rest myself against the light post before pressing on. After five minutes I steadied myself and resumed my trek.

Figaro Castle was growing in size. I hadn't been in Figaro since the seminar where King Edgar unveiled his radio communications equipment shortly after the fall of the renegade Imperial General. Back then, this town was little more than a village. I was impressed at how quickly a town could sprawl out and develop in just under three years. But, with all the refugees who'd fled the destroyed towns and the unsurpassed ambition to rebuild, maybe this urbanized growth and development was to be expected.

I finally reached my destination. It was far more majestic than I remembered. There were about ten steps leading to the main door at the castle's south entrance, and they had to be around seventy feet wide. Atop the entry stairs was the grandiose doorway some twenty feet high. The thick, cedar wood doors were open, and a squad of royal guards wearing green tunics and busby hats stood at either side. At first glance I thought they wielded long spears, but a deeper examination revealed these were actually bayonets upon long-barreled rifles.

I must've been walking more casually as I climbed the front stairs, for the guards took no notice of me and continued their role as human statutes. Inside the front doors was the huge entrance hall. The small stained glass windows that were black on the outside were emitting colorful images inside. Some of them looked like the crest-and-dragons design that adorned Figaro's flag. Others displayed wild desert creatures or sea vessels. Six ornate chandeliers, each containing a dozen electric light bulbs, hung down from the high ceiling, which was painted with an abstract design swirling with colors of sky blue, orange, grey, and olive green.

While I took in the magnificent scenery, I reminded myself that sightseeing wasn't my true purpose here. I had to find the King as soon as possible. I remembered the corridor to the right led to the castle's dungeon. That area seemed very unlikely for him to be, so I looked at the other corridor on left. That one led to the large basement area, where the maintenance rooms and machinery workshops were located. Going with the more reasonable approach, I headed left.

As I began descending the stairs to the basement, I heard a man's voice behind me. "The hell you doin' here boy? I know this ain't a restricted area, but the munitions level still ain't the place where any average sod can just waltz right and give himself the guideless tour."

I must've been sharp and awake by now. Or maybe the familiarity of old memories was etched into my mind. I recognized that voice, though I hadn't heard it in quite some time. But the voice and the accent were unmistakable. I turned around and faced the man. He was tall but not heavyset. He wore pants and boots that were similar to my own, and had on a metallic armored vest complete broad shoulder plates. He had a wide flat nose, small sunken eyes, and peppery-gray hair that was shaved into a flattop. When his eyes met mine, he grinned without dropping the unlit cigar in his mouth. "Well I'll be a son of a fuckin' five-assed, mule-screwed bitch. If it ain't Leonard Gurosawn!"

Much of his acquaintances and associates knew him as Army Staff Sergeant Rodney Hayne, but his close friends like me knew him by something else.

"Sarge!" I returned his smile as I walked over to greet him. We shook hands and patted backs like we did when he was my old supervisor back in Narshe. He wasn't from the rural areas around Kohlingen, but he wasn't from the urbanized regions either. He had a pronounced accent, and said my name as 'LAY-nard GYOOR-ohs-ah-oon'.

Sarge was a rarity. He was not among the people my dad bought. He was one of the many people my dad fucked over in some way. But unlike most others from that group, Sarge's judgment of me was based on _me_, not my father.

Though he was only in his mid forties, his hair was already graying. I took a quick check of his armaments. As usual, he wasn't empty. A sheathed machete strapped to each hip, a throwing discus was tucked into one side of his belt, and foldable crossbow was tucked into the other.

"So whatcha' been up to as of recent?" he asked me in a jovial voice. "If I recall correctly, you've just had a B-day. Whatja' do?"

"Overslept," I answered, unprepared for the question.

He just shook his head. "Oh, you fuckin' party pooper. Well aside from that, what brings ya' here to Figaro Castle?"

"I'm looking for the King. Do you know where I can find him?"

"Well, 'fraid that you're S.O.L. for the time bein'. King Edgar's at a private meetin' right now."

Damn. Just what I did not need. If there was any such person as Lady Luck, she was being a total bitch to me.

Sarge merely chomped his cigar and asked, "So what's new at Shedairah? The Major still hate ya?"

Maybe I was falling sleep again. My answer was far from the best. "Actually I don't work there any more. Uh…shit happened."

Then I thought of it. I'd sworn to tell only the right people about the Shedairah massacre, and I first believed that consisted of only the King. But if the King was unavailable, maybe I could tell Sarge instead, and he could pass the information on to King Edgar.

I was about to say my piece when Lady Luck chose to rip me off yet again. A man appeared atop the stairway. "Sir, Kades requires your presence upstairs immediately."

"Got it. Thanks," Sarge said to the man before turning back to me. "Well, looks like we'll hafta' fill each other in later. Work's callin'. Nice to see you again though." Sarge turned and walked up the stairs after the man who'd called him.

"Later," I said as the two men disappeared from my view. There was no point in loitering around here when the King was occupied at a meeting. I walked back outside down the stairs, debating my next move. I cursed at the paradox, as I couldn't do much more than wait now. I felt like the guy who's been told to hurry up and wait, and can't really do either.

But waiting was my only choice under the circumstances. I took a walk, sticking to the perimeter of the castle as to not wander very far in my restless state.

I eventually came upon the castle's chocobo stables at the northwest corner. Unlike the poorly-maintained stable out in the woods, these stables were meticulously cared for. They were clean and organized, not covered with overgrown vegetation, and they didn't reek of chocobo dung.

There was a stable caretaker in one of the bird pens, fitting a bird with a saddle. He looked up at me. "Hey man, would you mind giving me a hand here?"

With nothing better to do at the moment, feeling the sensation of tiredness once again and needing something to keep me awake, I agreed to help. "Not at all." I walked over to the stable. The caretaker led me into a large warehouse.

"Let's organize this stuff," he directed. The shelves and racks within the place were organized in a maze-like arrangement. He took me to a back corner and we started working.

_change in s & n_

"I thought this book looked useful, but it's just like what we have back at our condo." Locke was commenting on an astronomy book that he'd picked while browsing the market place's bookstore.

As it turned out, we could only afford stuff we didn't need, and what we found useful was too expensive. So we simply went from store to store just looking at what the vendors had in stock.

Celes and I left Locke skimming through the science books as we explored a shelf of cookbooks. Despite my silence on the topic, Celes noticed my apprehension. When Locke was beyond earshot, she spoke to me in a low tone. "Terra, are you okay?"

I looked at her soft blue eyes. "I'm fine. I'm just…anxious, that's all."

She exhaled deeply. "I understand you're excited, for lack of a better term, but don't you think you're _a little_ obsessive about this?" she asked reasonably. "It's normal to want to introduce yourself, but wanting this badly to be the first person he sees upon waking up? You don't even know his name."

She had a point and I wasn't about to argue against it, but I still wanted to explain myself. "I just don't want him waking up and leaving without asking about me."

Celes put her hand on my shoulder. "I'm sure he'll think to ask, and besides that, you're a Returner. People who read the newspaper know who we are and what we did. I'm sure this man knows of us too. How many women out there have lush green hair? You're unique, so relax. That guard who prohibited your entry to his room will probably tell him about your attempted visit anyhow, so lighten up."

We laughed, then came a voice out of nowhere. "Girl talk, I see." Locke had lost interest in the science books and came over to join us.

"Hi hon." Celes took Locke's hand. As she did so, Locke rolled back his glove and glanced at his watch.

"Ya, know, Edgar's meeting might be close to its end right about now. We should head over to the castle pretty soon."

I nodded. "Well I can't find anything here that's both affordable and interesting. I'd head over there right now." The couple agreed. We left the bookstore and walked along the cobblestone road that passed through the plaza's market place.

As we proceeded, Locke restarted the subject of our lunchtime discussion. "With all three of those city-states at one another's throats, I can see a total civil war breaking out, if that's not happening already."

"That can't happen," Celes replied. "A civil war is when a country fights itself. There is no central government down there, and hence, no official country. That's exactly why they're fighting. They're trying to establish one."

"My question is, why are they even fighting at all? Can't they settle this by another means that doesn't involve war and the neglect of their own people?" I spoke my mind.

Locke smiled. "Ah Terra, ever the one to attempt conflict management. I guess your settling the disputes amongst the orphans has given you a diplomatic edge. Being a mama, even if it was temporary, certainly gave you a newfound skill. Your kids were always…" Locke stopped himself, and as much as I didn't like it, I knew what was coming next. As if she sensed it as well, Celes let go of his hand.

Locke shook his head. "Sorry Terra. I forgot that it' impossible for you to cope with losing your children, even after all this time. I know it must be frustrating for you to deal with such things with having…what the hell?"

I'd had enough. Now he'd it through that thick skull of his, and know what really frustrated me. He'd go out of his way to avoid being insensitive, only to be just that. I grabbed his wrist and dug my fingernails in deep. "Want to know what's _really _frustrating?" I mindfully kept my voice down, for I was speaking in a sharp whisper that only the three of us could hear. "Hearing your sorry-ass excuses for apologies and attempts at comfort that are never wanted to begin with. You had nothing to apologize for, until you made that fucking kiss-up attempt. I already know that I fucked up back in Mobliz. I can cope with that. But I _tire _of you offering unwanted sympathy for problems that no longer exist. Don't remind me of my past self. I'm beyond that." I kept from raising my voice.

Locke blushed, a weak noise escaping his mouth. He turned to Celes, but she just stood there with her arms folded and her eyes narrow. She wouldn't back him up on this.

Now I could spell out what I'd been feeling all this time. I softened my voice and grip as I looked him straight in the eye. "You disappoint me with this babying Locke. I truly expected more of you. I thought you were above and beyond that protect-the-weak-damsel-in-distress shit. It seems you've let me down."

He swallowed hard, speaking in a shaky voice. "I have? I'm…sorry for that." He apologized, but this time had reason for it. I released my grip and he relaxed. "I should live up to the confidence you've placed in me." He smiled awkwardly.

"Now _that's_ comforting to hear," I said. Celes took his hand again and we resumed our walk to the castle.

Once there, we headed up the front stairs, the guards doing absolutely nothing but blinking their eyes as we passed. We walked through the entrance hall and out into the terraced courtyard. Beyond that was the indoor plaza, and after that came a stairway. We climbed it and walked down a curving corridor, to the waiting area outside the doors of Edgar's conference hall. I took a seat on a velvet chair while Locke leaned against the wall. Celes leaned back against him and he wrapped his arms around her waist. Just then, the door to the meeting room opened.

Cyan walked out, followed by Queen Charise. Edgar followed as he spoke to the Chancellor. "I'm sure they'll understand. They've been working double with additional staff to bring us our increased demand of materials. Though even I, the ever patient, can't stand dealing with Major Bozwensc, my presence will convince him and his people to produce the shipment ahead of schedule, preferably today."

A young soldier walked around the hallway curve to join them. He was followed by a tall man of average build with cropped gray, a cigar in his mouth and plate armor on his chest and shoulders. He put the back of his hand to his forehead in a military salute as he approached Edgar.

"Staff Sergeant Hayne," Edgar addressed him. "Join Captain Kades in my traveling entourage. I'm going to personally visit them and request a shipment today, as soon as they can prepare it.

"Yessir," replied the Sergeant. He and the soldier walked off.

Edgar turned to Cyan. "General Garamonde, see to it that people in the shipping and receiving yards are briefed about the huge delivery we'll hopefully receive today. It's early, so they don't expect it yet."

"Yes, my liege." Cyan bowed and followed the other two men down the hallway.

Edgar finally noticed us. He put on his trademark ear-to-ear grin. "Why hello you three."

"How do, Edgar," Celes replied. "What's the situation?"

Edgar cleared his throat. "We're still holding fast to our decision of not sending any military personnel down to the lower continent. That being said, the House of Albrook still requests another supply shipment. Given how the situation with those enigmatic paramilitary groups is worse than they first assessed, they've asked us to send some of our more advanced technology products. We have, thought not without much hesitance and deliberation, chosen to honor this request. However, we currently lack the materials to produce their desired goods. So now I, in person, will request one of our primary suppliers to ship us their load early so we can meet Albrook's new request with haste." He began walking and motioned for us to follow. "I'm going to the stable. They're preparing an entourage."

Locke was curious. "Where are you going?"

"A mining facility owned by a Narshean military base in the northern mountains," Edgar answered, and then looked at me. "Your favorite place Terra. The one you asked me about a while back and care about so much."

"What place is that?" I recalled the conversation, but couldn't remember the name.

Edgar looked at me and answered. "The Shedairah Mining Facility."


	6. Benevolence And Brutality Revealed

**Chapter 6: Benevolence and Brutality Revealed**

"Oh, that place," I responded. "The best of the best, if I remember your words correctly."

We descended a stairwell to the first floor. Passing through two more halls and doorways, we arrived at the outside chocobo stables. A young man about Gau's age was preparing several birds for the ride. I counted a total of thirteen chocobos in this pen, some of them outfitted with saddles. Some riders had already mounted. The Staff Sergeant from the hallway was one of them, and a few armed soldiers were now stepping up as well. A tall man in a red cape was among them. When he faced us, we all greeted him. He was a close friend of the Returners, and a ranking Captain of Cyan's. While his red cape was not a standard piece of military attire, he wore it as preference, and to distinguish himself as a commander.

The caretaker brought two more birds from the enclosure, fitted them with ride gear, and presenting them to the waiting troops. The next two mounted, and the caretaker repeated the process, until there was only one left.

"Saved the best for last," Edgar mused as the stable hand brought the young King his outfitted ride. Edgar stepped on the tree trunk stool and climbed upon his chocobo's back. His traveling company was now full; himself, ten soldiers, the Captain, and the Sergeant. The latter, given he was outside, lit his cigar.

"Feel free to wander about as usual" Edgar gripped the reins of his bird. "I'll be out for a while. Need anything before I depart?"

"Nope." Locke shook his head.

"Ditto." Celes echoed the statement.

"Terra?" Edgar looked at me.

"Not anymore. I was going to ask that you convince the hospital guard to let me in and visit my…favorite stranger, but there's no hurry. The guard's just doing his job. Even when that guy does wake up, I doubt he'll be moving around anytime soon." Now it was my turn to emulate the Edgar-style grin. "Unless he's dying to meet me that bad."

That produced laughs from all four of us. Edgar finished laughing and said, "You must mean that guy from the heroine's calling. Maybe he'll ask for your autograph later on. No good deed goes unnoticed. Terra, your beauty transcends more than just your looks."

"Thanks," I said, still smiling.

"In that case, I'll see you later." Edgar mustered his ride to join his traveling company. "Vonius, we're moving out," he called to the Captain. The stable worker unlocked a metal gate in the fence and swung it open. The party of chocobos exited and turned east. I watched them until the last one was out of sight.

The stable hand closed the gate and walked back to the large storage warehouse near the enclosed bird pens. There was one chocobo left. It wore riding gear, but remained in the pen, since Edgar's entourage was fully-staffed. Curious, Celes walked over to give it a glance. She watched it crane its neck downward to eat from its trough of grain mix. Locke rested himself against a pillar that supported an over-hanging roof while I sat down on a wooden bench, pulled my thighs against my chest, and rested my hands and chin on my knees.

Locke turned to me. "I do hope that aiding Albrook again won't bring animosity from these paramilitary factions."

I looked up at him. "Don't be so pessimistic. He shipped them goods once already, and nothing happened. Those gangs are nothing but disorderly rouges exploiting political instability."

"Yeah, you're right." He looked on as Celes stroked the chocobo's head.

The caretaker walked out of the storage house with a trowel and a paper bag, and began picking up chocobo feces from inside the pen. As he approached Celes, she looked at him eagerly. "Can I take this bird out and ride it? Not far, just around the castle."

The young worker shoveled a large wad of shit into the bag. "Well, you're friends with King Edgar, right? Just bring it back, and stay in the vicinity."

"Right." Celes nodded. The caretaker went back to the stable fence and opened its gate. Celes walked the bird over to the mounting step.

"Let me grab the booklet so I can sign it out after checking its number." The stable hand referenced identifying numerals, tattooed on their inner shins of all domesticated chocobos. He put his trowel and shit bag down and walked back into the shed.

Locke followed him and asked, "Do you have any more so we could ride as a pair?"

"Nope," came the worker's voice from inside.

I let my eyes wander over to the Hyaxulan Mountains in the north. They were always a sight to admire for their beauty. But now those mountains held something else for me. They had a great personal symbolic value since, being where the heroine's calling took place. Edgar was right. Beauty could be far more than just a visual display.

All of a sudden, two voices grunted simultaneously. One was Locke's. The other one sounded peculiar, yet there was also something vaguely familiar about it. I recalled hearing that voice before, and recently.

"Hey, watch it!" Locke protested.

"Oops, er-sorry. Emergency situation. Gotta go!" came the other voice. Why did I recognize it? Was it? No. It couldn't have been…

Locke got back on his feet as the other man bolted across the pen to the last remaining chocobo, his long brown hair flowing about behind him.

He bellowed something in a frantic tone to Celes as he practically leapt upon the chocobo beside her, but I couldn't make out the actual words. I was concentrating on something else. I needed only a split-second to recognize this man. It was…_him!_

There was no room for doubts or second guesses. I recognized him with absolute clarity, just as I took in his appearance when he collapsed in the mountains several days before. He'd just spent his last ounce of strength back then, but now he seemed to be running on adrenaline.

Celes watched on, totally stunned, as the man without a name yelled something garbled before riding the chocobo through the opened gate.

I was as dumbstruck as Celes. It couldn't be wise for this man to be up and about so soon after what the medical personnel did to cure his poisoning, but pushing himself like that physically was beyond irrational. What the hell was he thinking? The do-or-die inflections of his voice would've provided an answer, but would also lead to another puzzling question. What was he doing, and why?

I stood and walked over to where Locke was dusting off his clothes. "Crazy motherfucker. What is he, rolling high on stimulants?"

I shook my head as Celes joined us. "No Locke. He's not. He's…" I didn't know what to say next.

"What?" Now Locke appeared confused. "How do you know that? You know the guy?"

_change in s & n_

_If you're doing this to stay awake, it's not working._

I thought it was taking an extended furlough, but the never-so-humble voice in my mind came back and voiced its own commentary on my status. At least this time it was objective.

After the stable worker and I finished rearranging miscellaneous boxes and equipment upon the rows of warehouse shelves, we began another task.

Someone important was traveling on this day, and a number of chocobos were in demand for the excursion. The two of us went about collecting riding gear from the shelves and fitting it together. I gathered the stuff and he assembled it. I lost track of how many riding gear sets he'd prepared. I was concentrating so much on my task that I never thought to ask him who was traveling. If he'd said anything to me, I didn't hear it. I was falling into half-sleepiness again.

Now that we'd prepped all necessary ride gear, the stable worker left for business outside. I sat down on a wooden tool chest and tried to keep myself out of dreamland. I looked up at the overhead light. It was much brighter before, and had dimmed now. Or maybe I was having darkened vision again. I could make out the light's glow, but not much else. The caretaker walked back inside and grabbed a few items. One made the rustling noise of a paper bag. The other was a short tool that I couldn't discern with my darkening eyesight. This wasn't encouraging.

Maybe I should check back at the castle, perchance that King Edgar's meeting was over by now. I stood up and tried blinking my vision to its normal brightness level. Just then, the caretaker walked back inside after saying 'No' to someone out in the stable's pen. "Would you mind helping me with an inventory check?" He opened a cabinet door, reaching for some kind of book.

"Actually, I've somewhere to be now. I need to see the King."

The worker's mouth dropped open. "The King?" he said in disbelief. "What the hell are you talking about? He just left about five minutes ago."

I felt a knot build up in my stomach.

The stable worker elaborated. "I told you several times, as you collected saddles and reigns, this was in preparation for the King and his riding company. You obviously weren't paying attention."

"No shit." I admitted my ignorance. I'd have kicked myself in the ass for such a flaw, but there was another question to ask. "When will he come back?" I asked, though I felt the answer wasn't my preferred one.

"He'll be out for a while." The young man pulled the book from the cabinet and shut the door.

I somehow expected that, but nothing prepared me for what he said next. "He's taking the long route through the mountains to the north, going to some place up there, some combination of army base and mining colony run by Narshe to request an early shipment of stuff. Shedar. Sherdai. I don't remember the exact name."

"Shedairah," I said, in a slow voice tinged with dire inflections. I clenched my fists so tight that my fingernails dug deep into my palms.

He nodded. "Yeah, that's the place." Now it was his turn to look somber. "Is something wrong?"

No, not _wrong_. Try astronomically and utterly fucked up beyond imagination.

Yet another trial to endure. If that old saying that everything happens for a reason were true, there had to be a damn good reason for this latest unexpected challenge. Even a simple reason such my having fucked up somewhere would suffice.

I'd come this close to spreading the word, and I'd just been no more than a few yards from the man with the network, resources, and experience who could find out what really happened.

And now he was walking into the same slaughterhouse that I'd left behind, totally unaware of it. The enemy was smart, whatever it was. The King and his company would be swarmed by giant beige moths and…and whatever else that effortlessly turned one of the greatest mining and military installations into a mass crypt. They'd d join the body count, and my survival, like Miss Greenhair's act which ensured thereof, wouldn't mean shit.

_NO._ No way was I going to let that happen. I was alive and the poison had been cured. There had to be _some_ way of getting to the King, even now.

The powers that be hadn't conspired against my person in full. After all, this was a chocobo stable.

My pulse was racing, and my senses were on full alert now. Hopefully it wouldn't prove too little, too late. "Which way did they ride off?" I asked an aggressive voice, due to urgency more than anger. This was no time for feelings.

"East." His voice intonation was confused, but his answer was enough.

I had no memory of crossing the storage area, only of exiting its doorway to the outside. I wasn't very attentive to my surroundings, for in my rush to get out and grab a ride, I bumped into a man who'd been standing outside the shed's door. Both of us fell to the dirt, groaning from the impact. The other man's blue headband flew off.

"Hey, watch it!" the man snapped as he replaced his headband. I normally would've stopped to help him up, but in this case I didn't even have a millisecond to spare.

"Oops, er-sorry. Emergency situation. Gotta go!" I gave an honest apology, but doubted my vocal tones hinted at such. I rolled off of the fallen guy, got to my feet, and looked around. There it was, one last chocobo, all fitted with the essential riding gear.

I dashed across the pen towards the last bird. Had I been any faster, I'd have bowled over another person. A young woman with long blonde hair in a sleeveless white dress stood just beyond the hulking chocobo, out of sight until I neared the bird. Just in time! She looked in the process of mounting.

I stopped myself just feet from slamming into her and grabbed the bird, pulling myself upon its back while barely using the wooden mounting stool nearby. Before she could give me a dirty look, I explained myself as best as I could—not very well.

"The King's walking into a death trap. I gotta save him!" I said, though she probably heard it as gibberish. Unconcerned with others' perceptions, I pushed my bird to action and rode out through the open gate, heading east.

This time, I'd avoid over-gripping the reins and choking the bird. Time wasn't simply important now, it was all that mattered. My vision took on that dark shade again, but I blinked it away. Naptime could wait until after I'd stopped King Edgar and given him the info. For now, the world consisted of nothing but myself and his travel party.

The chase was on.

Once outside the stable, I followed a dirt path, until it fed into a wide boulevard. Being a main road, it was naturally crowded. I had to slow down upon entering and carefully maneuver around other chocobos, some of which pulled carriages and wagons. I took a split-second to glance down any side streets I passed, checking if they were any less crowded. They were equally so, if not more. The King's entourage could only go straight from here, so I kept on that route.

I finally departed the bustling crowd. The main street narrowed into a residential one. That was both good and bad. It was less crowded, but also less spacious. Therefore, I had less room to ride fast. And the residential street didn't follow a straightforward path. It snaked and curved about, and I was hoping not find my self in a dead end cul-de-sac. Fortunately, there were mounted signs indicating which streets were dead ends. In my reduced speed, I easily noticed them as they came up. No backtracking was required.

I wasn't counting how many turns I'd made, or how much time had passed. I was just grateful to come upon another wide road. This wasn't packed like the last one, so I riled my bird to full speed again, yelling "Mush! MUSH!" I didn't know if this made any difference, but yelling it out kept me focused.

The densely-packed buildings gave way to more sparsely-placed structures. I was now nearing the capitol's outskirts, where farming industries were located. This was another good sign, and it fit with my plans. Inside Figaro's thriving metropolis, finding the King and his company would be a near-impossible task. Yet here in the rural outskirts, finding them would be no trouble at all. They only had a few minutes head start before me.

Then I saw it, a mass of mounted chocobos headed toward the forests in the mountains. I'd now spotted the troop, but now came the task of keeping up with them. Neither my chocobo nor I could give out now.

Breathing heavily, I steered my bird toward the group. They were too far away to hear me, so I saved my breath and just kept moving in, seeking to top their speed. I analyzed the upcoming forest. They could enter before I made contact, so long as I could track their location once inside. If they took a wide mountain trail, following would be much easier. I stayed focused on the men whose lives were literally now in my hands, the distance between us decreasing every second.

Finally, at a distance of only a couple hundred feet, they entered the forest. I kept my eyes on them as trees whizzed past. The chocobos' yellow feathers, like their riders' bark blue outfits, made them stand out against the brown and green surroundings.

I got a break when the trail began to wind or narrow. This slowed their pace. Of course it would slow mine as well, but not until I actually reached that point. I could reduce my following distance by several yards before I'd have to slow down like them. Upon reaching that point, I slowed my bird in preparation for the new section of trail.

150 feet and closing, thought the closing rate was obviously slowed just like the general speed now. I carefully steered my bird in the areas that required it. The King's travel party was doing likewise.

Finally, on a segment of less windy trail, I passed the 100 foot mark. I could see three chocobos bringing up the rear. My guess was they'd formed a circle around King Edgar, with one in the lead. Slowly but steadily I trimmed the distance down. At fifty feet the night began setting in—according to my vision. I couldn't black out at this point. It was now or never. I wouldn't get much closer.

I took a deep breath and tried yelling out, but wound up coughing heavily. Each breath I took was hell on my throat, not mention my chest. Coughing didn't alleviate the pain, but in some ironic way that was good. The pain actually snapped me back to full awareness and cleared the shadows from my eyes. Clearing my throat and bracing myself for another coughing spell, I tried again.

"Stop the King! Do not go to Shedairah!" I bellowed in a dry, raspy voice before coughing up another storm.

Nothing. I inhaled and hoped that three times would be the charm. This time I worded my attention-getter differently. "Shedairah's been attacked. All but one was killed!"

That did the trick. A soldier in the back row turned and looked at me. He spoke to his comrades upon visual contact. I heard a voice say "Halt!" and the company pulled their chocobos to a stop. I did the same with mine.

The rear flank had turned around, and was now in the front. They slowly rode towards me with their crossbows drawn. My yelling like a madman had put them on edge, understandably.

The mounted troops drew closer. All had crossbows trained on me. A prestigious-looking man in a red cape joined the soldiers. I gathered he was an officer, and the party leader. The crossbowmen could easily perforate me a dozen times over if the order was given, but these men were true professionals. They simply aimed without firing, unlike the guards on the freight train, who'd shoot-to-kill first and ask questions later.

I was now surrounded by Figaro's finest. The man of office rode up to face me, his long blonde hair and grey cape waving about behind him. I slowed my breathing now, to make my words more articulate. This was the man I'd originally wanted to see, and now had to save.

The young King of Figaro glanced at my panting self. "What did you just say about Shedairah?" He didn't demand an answer, but he clearly wanted one, just as much as I wanted to give it to him.

My throat still burned as I spoke. "Shedairah has been attacked, and only one person survived."

The King glared. "Is this a sick joke? It's not funny."

"I wish it were a joke, but it's the truth. Shedairah has been attacked by something. I worked there, and am the only survivor."

The King raised his eyebrows. "How do I know that? Do you have anything to prove you actually worked there?" He was testing my credibility.

I expected this. Without my workers documents, I'd have little believability. I was about to suggest that King Edgar contact someone in Narshe when a familiar, accented voice called my name.

"Leonard? The hell you doin' here?" It was Sarge. He must've been in the King's company. With his cigar now lit, he rode up next to the King.

"Hayne, you know this man?" The King asked him. Maybe Sarge could verify my identity and make things easier. No, not maybe. Sarge _would_ do it.

"Yessir. We worked together in the mines o' Narshe, both before and after the collapse. He and I were both sent to the Shedairah base once they opened their own minin' facility. After that, I joined your company."

King Edgar nodded in response. "So he's credible?"

"Yessir. Leonard's a man's man, if I don't say so myself." Sarge answered the King, blowing puffs of smoke out through his nose. "So what gives Leonard? You said you wanted to meet the King and all, but even if the meetin's over we all still got business. This better be important."

"It is, as in I-just-saved-all-your-lives important. Like I just said, The Shedairah installation was attacked and all but one person was killed."

If the King was about to ask a question, Sarge beat him to the proverbial punch. "What the hell? Why didn'tcha' tell me earlier when I saw ya' at the castle?"

"I was going to, but that guy came and called you away for something. I guess that something was this." I looked around at the squad of soldiers. They'd lowered their weapons once Sarge verified who I was.

The King brought us back to the pressing issue. "When did this happen? We never got any radio contact from them about such."

"Nearly a week back." I built upon that answer, to prevent another question about why I hadn't told anyone sooner. "I was coming here to tell you that very day, but fell unconscious from poisoning out in the forest. I woke up only an hour ago. In regards to radio contact, whoever, or whatever attacked the base cut off our radio communications."

King Edgar and Sarge exchanged nervous looks with each other and the caped officer before turning back to me. "Who attacked the place, or what?" asked the former.

I coughed again before answering. "That much I don't know. But there was one monster I encountered inside, a giant beige moth with large claws that belched out poisonous needles. That's how I got poisoned. I killed it. Still, I never knew of such a monster. If it's not some undiscovered species, I don't want to find out what it really is."

The King scratched his head as Sarge let out another puff of cigar smoke. "You mean, you didn't see anything else?" the King asked in a confused tone.

I shook my head. "I was in isolation, cleaning restrooms when there was a power outage. After some length of time and a few rumblings that shook the building, there was an explosion."

King Edgar looked off to the north, the direction of the base that he was now skeptical about visiting. He turned to face Sarge and the officer, then looked back at me. "A formal inquiry is needed. From the little bit you've told me so far, I can tell there's a lot more to be addressed." He looked at his squad of troops. "Change of plans," he told them. "We're returning to the castle. We'd best check in with Narshe to see if they've found anything. We'll have them go on stand-by as well, just in case." With that, the entourage turned and headed south, back toward the capitol, now with me in tow.

Sarge rode up along side me. "Why were ya' cleanin' the cans? That's normally done by the grunts, not civilian miners."

"Major Blockhead found an excuse to throw the book at me." I smiled, remembering what the 'excuse' actually was.

"Major Blockhead?" King Edgar asked in surprise.

"My slur for Major Bozwensc," I answered. "It fit the bill. A squared face and an asshole persona."

We rode out of the forest and back into the plains around Figaro. After several minutes the King rode alongside me. "What was your name again?" he asked.

"Leonard. Leonard Gurosawn."

"Hmm," he replied. I knew what was coming. "Gurosawn. Was your father-"

I cut him off. "I know who my father was, and what he was. I don't need any reminders of him, his unpunished crimes, or his undeserved renown. I'm not him, and I'm not like him. You know this much, I believe." I was forthcoming, but not forceful.

He didn't press the issue. King Edgar was a man of many laughs and smiles, but he was also a man of intelligence. He wouldn't compare me to the repulsive man who'd been my father.

He changed the subject instead. "So if you blacked out in the wilderness from the poison, how did you manage to survive after that?" He looked at me with anticipation.

"A young woman with long green hair," I answered, though what she did exactly was still unknown.

The King's face brightened. "Oh. So _you_ were the one she was bragging about. The heroine's calling was the act of saving _your_ life. You know her name, don't you?" I shook my head. How was I supposed to know such details about someone I'd never met? "I'll let you and her make the first introductions." He smiled again.

So Miss Greenhair had been forthcoming in her deed, which had a fitting title. She was a friend of the King's too. Maybe luck didn't hate me so much after all.

As we entered Figaro's suburban areas, the voice in my head returned with another rant. This time it actually had something positive to say. _Mission accomplished. You now have permission to lapse back into your coma._

How generous of the voice to be so lenient. Still, I'd gladly forfeit that privilege.

_change in s & n_

"What the hell are you talking about?" Celes gave me an incredulous, gawking look. Locke was so surprised he almost fell down. "How can you be sure?"

"That was him. The guy I saved. He's even wearing the same clothes from that day, including the odd pendent necklace." I spoke the truth, but couldn't make sense of his speedy actions or paranoid behavior. His words weren't very clear but I made out a few of them. He apparently had some belief that Edgar was in danger. "What did he say to you before riding off?"

"Just something about Edgar walking into a death trap, and needing to save him." Celes looked in the direction that Edgar's party and strange man had gone. "And he was still sleeping when you dropped by earlier? He sure as hell wasn't asleep this time."

The stable worker had joined us, hearing a few pieces of our conversation. "He was inside the storage house helping me collect the chocobos' riding gear for King Edgar's company. He worked with such intense concentration that he never heard me say the King was traveling. As I grabbed the booklet to sign out the last chocobo, he mentioned needing to speak with the King. Once I told him where King Edgar was headed, a worried look appeared on his face. Then he bolted out the door. I've never seen anyone move that fast. I thought he'd plow over something in his rush."

"He did that to me," Locke remarked. "You said he was working with you. Do you actually know him?

The stable hand shook his head. "No. I just saw him walking about and asked him for assistance, and he agreed. I didn't inquire about what he'd been doing here. I thought nothing of it."

Locke gave Celes a nervous glance. "Do you think Edgar's really in any danger? That guy seemed too panicked to be making things up."

She returned his look, then her eyes moved past him to the dirt road behind the stable. The sound of many large, running feet was coming from that direction. "If that's who I think it is, than no, not at this point."

Right on cue, the squadron of mounted soldiers returned, Vonius the Captain in the lead. Edgar was in the middle of the entourage along with the Sergeant, whose cigar had now burned to a stub.

The stable worker opened the gate without being asked, and all thirteen riders filed back into the pen. There was an additional chocobo this time. It walked in last, its rider slumped over as if he'd fall asleep any second. The stable hand shut the gate and the riders dismounted.

Celes walked up to Edgar as he stepped down. "I guess he made contact with you. He volunteered to help prepare the riding saddles and was in the shed when you left. He was in such a rush to 'save' you that he bumped into Locke and nearly did the same to me before. What did he want anyway?"

Edgar walked over to the rest of us and spoke. "It seems there's a drastic situation on our hands. The Shedairah installation, where I was going, supposedly was attacked and neutralized. Only one person survived." He looked over his shoulder at the last man on a chocobo. The Staff Sergeant was helping him down, given his half-conscious state. The boost of adrenaline had run out now. "Take one wild guess who that was."

The Sergeant helped the nameless man walk over to the mounting stool for a seat. His face was flushed red and glistened with sweat, natural signs he'd been pushing himself too hard. I was beginning to realize why.

Locke cringed. "What? When, and how?"

"The 'when' came about on the same day of the heroine's calling." Edgar turned to face me. I just nodded. I'd already seen and recognized this man, and now got some idea of what he'd been doing before I found him that day. Edgar continued. "But the rest of that question will have to wait for the moment. I've plans for an inquiry later this evening. Oh, and Terra, this man told me about you on our way back from the forest. You two can make the first introductions." Edgar flashed me his trademark smile again.

"Aw, thanks. That's so—you." I returned a smile of my own.

"Sergeant Hayne," Edgar called. "Make contact with Narshe and other areas of importance immediately. Make sure no serious disturbances have come about anywhere else. Also request that Narshe's workers guild send us printed proof of this man's identity, just for routine purpose."

"And the inquiry?" the Sergeant asked.

"That will come in a few hours. The man needs food, water, and rest before telling his full story. I'll contact the House of Albrook and explain their supply request can't be fulfilled at this time." Edgar looked in our direction. "The man claims he was admitted to Starnisden Hospital, room 317. I'll arrange a free carriage ride to take him back. I don't think you'd object to accompanying him."

I laughed. "I'd object highly if you denied me that honor."

Edgar shrugged. "Well, you three know what to do. It's 2:30." Edgar looked at his watch. "This man's inquiry will be in five hours. See you then in my conference chamber." He gave the man a pat on the shoulder and told him to rest up, then he, the Captain, and the Sergeant walked into the castle with the other troops. The stable hand was now bringing the chocobos back into the covered, indoor section of the stable. Locke, Celes, and I were now alone with the mystery man, who slouched on the wooden stool regaining his breath.

"And now for the moment of truth," Locke said enthusiastically.

"Me first," I insisted.

"That's what I meant."

I approached the man with no name. He was breathing deeply and slowly, a stress reduction method that could ease one's nerves and decrease an overdriven heart. He appeared non-military; he didn't wear a full uniform and a jacket like his wasn't a part of Narshean military garb. Knowing that Shedairah was also a mining zone, I deduced that he was a miner.

Either his eyes were closed or he was squinting. He didn't take notice of me. I looked over my shoulder, where Celes gestured that I make a first move. I turned back to the man and initiated the prolonged greeting. Even without my fire magic, I could still break the ice.

"Hey," I said. "Hello again."

He opened his eyes enough to meet mine, and blinked several times. He had these frosty blue eyes of a color that I'd seen in Relm's paint kit. The color was periwinkle, a mixture of light blue and gray. His eyes were also heavily bloodshot, another symptom of fatigue. But he still saw me, for he looked into my eyes and smiled. This time, he knew my presence was for real.

_change in n_

That voice. Soft, feminine, and yet strong. It was inviting to hear. Once I caught my breath, I saw the young woman with the long green hair, now hanging loose instead of in the ponytail. The soft yet lush color of her hair was just as I remembered it, as was her fair skin, dark green eyes, and each facial feature. Only now there was something different. Instead of a startled look she had a smile, which I slowly but eagerly returned. Now I was having my face-to-face with Miss Greenhair, and could find out her real name.

The same question must've been on her mind, for she asked, "What's your name?"

I tried answering, but my throat stung and I coughed again.

The woman sighed. "Well you know my name at least, do you? I shook my head. How was I supposed to know that? Was I missing a piece of common knowledge? "Terra Branford. Just call me Terra. All my friends do."

Terra Branford. My personal green-haired heroine was named Terra Branford. That must've been what I interpreted as 'terror brainfart' as I was leaving the clinic. But who exactly was she, besides a woman with odd tastes in hair dye colors? Terra expected me to know _of_ her at least. Once my voice returned I'd ask.

Terra knelt down in before me. "I'm sure Edgar told you there's a chocobo carriage coming to drop you off to the clinic." I simply nodded. He'd also told me about getting some food and rest before the inquiry he was planning.

Terra stood up and looked off to her right, my left. "It's here. Can you stand yet?" I willed myself to move, getting to my feet, but staggering off balance. "Locke," Terra called over her shoulder. The guy in the headband and the woman in the sleeveless dress from before were still here. Friends of hers, I gathered. The man I'd previously bumped into came over. "Give him a hand. He's not fully refreshed just yet," Terra said.

Locke placed my arm around his shoulder. "Uh, no hard feelings about earlier. I understand it was purely accidental. You did what was necessary with the slim window of time available, and you did well." Not up for talking just yet, I smiled back at him. "Celes, if you will," Locke said to the blonde woman as we approached the carriage. She pulled the door open. Locke stepped inside and turned back to help me follow suit. As we took seats across from one another, Terra and Celes joined us. The blonde closed the door and sat next to Locke, while Terra sat next to me.

As the wagon moved out, I noticed that Locke and Celes held hands. A romantic couple obviously. The casual observer would look at us and presume we were on a double-date.

_What the hell are you thinking Leonard? What do you know about women? What do you know about people in general? You're not the most trusting person to walk the face of this planet now, are you? Besides, a woman of Terra's beauty could easily be taken, even if she's trustworthy. She's your personal heroine, and that alone is enough._

My body could tire, but the voice in my mind did not. It offered a reminder that I was no 'people person'.

The carriage eventually stopped at the clinic. The short ride gave my legs much-needed rest. I could stand and walk without help now. As we left the carriage, its driver presented me a large slip of paper. "It's a coupon signed by the King himself. Good for a meal from the clinic's cafeteria, free of charge."

I took the coupon, stuffing it into a jacket pocket. King Edgar had certainly planned this out well, just like everything thing else he did, great or small.

As the carriage rode away, Locke glanced at me. "I guess you two can get on with the official intros now. Terra's done her half, so get your voice back and do yours." He gave me a pat on the back. "We'll see you later."

The green-haired woman hugged her two friends, who then walked hand-in-hand down the street. We walked inside the clinic, back to the room I'd vacated earlier.

_change in n_

The guard was still posted outside the room. He greeted us when we approached. "Oh, you're back now." He looked at the man. "And you've met up with Ms. Branford as well. I'll let the staff know you've returned. And this time, for goddess' sakes, get some adequate rest before you go traipsing off again." The guard took off down the hallway as we entered the room to which he'd previously barred my admittance.

The nameless man sat on the bed, untied his boots, and placed them under a table. I grabbed a folding chair from behind the door and opened it alongside the bed as he removed his jacket, sticking it on a coat hook in the wall. He leaned back on his pillow as I took a seat. His voice returned, at least partly. He spoke in a raspy tone, but wasn't coughing. "The guard let you out?" I asked, attempting to spark a conversation.

"I insisted he let me out for business, though he voiced a misgiving or two. I said I'd be back later, and I am, with you." He looked at me, then looked up at the ceiling light.

"Good thinking," I stated before asking the question that mattered most. "Since you can speak now, what's your name?"

"Leonard, Leonard Gurosawn, the one and only."

So I was the personal heroine to a man named Leonard Gurosawn. I'd saved his life, and that in turn allowed him to accomplish whatever serious business he had with Edgar. The heroine's calling had gained even more importance now.

"So Leonard," I began, "How'd you manage to get from here to Edgar's castle in your condition?"

Leonard stretched out on his bed. "Very clumsily. I felt sleepy the whole time. When I made to the castle in search of the King, an old friend of mine, the Staff Sergeant who accompanied him, said he was in a meeting and I'd have to wait. Then he too was called away. So I took a walk to the northwest corner of the castle, and came upon the stables. A worker asked me for help and I agreed, hoping a little work might wake me up in full. Then I literally bumped into your friend."

I nodded. "I can see why you'd have difficulty staying awake, after what the staff here did to neutralize that poison."

Leonard looked back at me. "What happened, when I collapsed and you found me? Even I can't imagine you carrying me down here on your back. What were you doing up there anyway?"

Now that I understood his half, I'd share my piece. "I was just sitting up there on my little lookout point off the mountain trail, about to leave to get some dinner, when I heard your footsteps and mumbling. After that I heard you puke. I got there and saw your eyes close, not sure if you actually saw me."

"I did," he cut in "but I wasn't trusting my eyes. I'd hallucinated a while before. Thank the poison for that."

Damn. I knew his poisoning was serious, but not _that _serious. I didn't ask anything about the poison, and went on with the story he'd asked to hear. "Since Sabin, another friend of mine, lives slightly farther up the trail, I ran to his cabin and banged on the door. He was home, and so was his chocobo. The two of us rushed back and I mounted the bird, while he lifted you up to sit in front of me. Then, with you unconscious and slumped over, I rode the bird down to this antidote clinic. Sabin referred me here."

"Well thank you all the same," he responded. "So, how'd they cure the poison?

"Antidotes did little but slow it down, so they pumped out your contaminated blood with a tube and needle." I pointed at the cotton swab taped to Leonard's inner forearm. "And that's why you were out for so long, and not totally alert once you awoke, save for your rush to stop Edgar and his traveling squadron. Your body has yet to replace all the lost blood."

Leonard scratched his chin and looked the pocket of his pant leg. A large hole was torn in the side. "I guess a blood transfusion was never authorized because they couldn't identify me."

"That's right, just like they wouldn't let me in while you were asleep. No strangers are allowed to visit unnamed comatose patients."

At that moment, a female doctor entered the room. "Welcome back, Mr. Gurosawn. Is there anything I can do for you right now?"

Leonard nodded in response. "Two things actually. One, just call me by my first name, and two," he grabbed his jacket and removed the signed coupon. "I have a signed ticket for a free meal. So if you will, I'll take some chicken noodle soup and a soda. I can stuff myself later." He passed her the meal ticket.

"One moment," replied the doctor before leaving the room. She soon returned with an eating tray, containing a bowl of steaming soup and a can of soda. "Here you are. Enjoy." Leonard pulled up a movable shelf hinged to the bed frame and started his soup as the doctor said good-bye and left.

Now was the perfect opportunity to ask him a question that wouldn't come up at his inquiry, how he knew of Edgar but not me. I'd always thought that knowing of any one Returner was to know of us all. "Leonard, you've never heard of me before?"

"No." He swallowed a mouthful of soup before taking a drink. "Am I supposed to?"

He was as oblivious as I was puzzled. Were he some rural farm guy this would've made sense, but he seemed like a city person. Knowing that he'd worked at Shedairah, I had a vague idea of where he lived. "So you worked at the Shedairah base. You're from Narshe, are you not?"

Leonard swallowed another spoonful of soup. "Born and raised there. Why?"

"Do your read The Narshean Observer?" Certainly a native of the town would subscribe to its top newspaper.

"I've never been one to trust the press, so no, save for the weather report, the funnies, and the political cartoons. The little I hear from its other categories is by word of mouth." He finished the last of his soup. "What are you getting at?"

"I'm Terra Branford, of the Returners."

My timing couldn't have been worse. Leonard was taking a drink of soda when the last thing he expected to hear came out of my mouth. He gagged, and spit his mouthful of soda back into the can, his faded blue eyes wide in shock. "What the hell did you just say?"

"I'm one of the Returners." His surprised reaction implied he wasn't so oblivious after all. "The anti-Imperial, anti-Palazzo resistance movement. Certainly you've heard of our little ragtag group."

Leonard took a drink of soda again. "I know of the Returners as a group, but save for the King, I don't know any specific names or faces. I just know of him because he runs this nation, and often traded machinery with Shedairah in exchange for goods. I'd only met him once before today, at the seminar when he showcased his new radio gear. All Narshean mining workers were invited"

"All of us were there too," I responded, though he'd already concluded that part.

Leonard finished off his drink and placed the tray on the nightstand. "Fuck. Well don't I feel like an idiot. Were those two other in the carriage also part of your inner circle?"

I nodded. "The man who helped you walk, who you also ran into, is Locke Cole, self-professed treasure hunter, though many others have pegged him a common thief. He only stole from bad people though, like the Empire, and it was always for a good cause. The woman is Celes Chere, a reformed General who betrayed the Empire and fought with us. She used to be a stone, but got in touch with her emotions soon after she met Locke. She was jailed in the under halls of South Figaro during Imperial occupation, when Locke saved her. Had he not done so, she would've been executed. He saved her from death. Since then, they've become the perfect couple."

A frown formed on Leonard's face when I mentioned South Figaro's occupation. But he relaxed again. "Saved from death. Sounds familiar."

I made the connection. "The King's brother Sabin, who I mentioned earlier, is one of us too. He'll probably want to meet you as well. I think all the Returners will be at the inquiry later on, well most of them. One died of old age a few years back, another literally disappeared into thin air, and finally one's a vagrant who keeps to himself. No one really has contact with him. He comes and goes randomly."

At least Leonard wasn't completely in the dark about us. But his next words were totally unexpected. "The King's brother? Last I heard, the King of Figaro only had a sister." That was too much. I couldn't contain myself and started laughing wildly. Leonard was so stunned he couldn't do much in response. "It is really that funny?"

"Where the hell did you hear that? Edgar's never had a sister." I calmed down from my laughing spell.

"Wasn't there also a moogle amongst you?" Leonard came back to the main topic.

"His name's Mog. You know him?" As a Narshean miner, it seemed likely. Mog was the only talking moogle before the collapse, and after Narshe was repopulated by people and moogles, Mog had taken it upon himself to teach his peers the human language. They still only spoke in Umaro-style broken speech, but it was something.

"Mog, that's it. I have trouble telling those guys and girls apart most of the time. I kinda miss them. I worked in the city mines before I was transferred. Maybe I should pay them a visit sometime." Leonard glanced at the doorway in the corner of the room. "You know Terra, as much as I'd like to keep with these icebreakers going, I need to get my shit together, and a hot bath would surely help. Feel free to stay here, but I'm taking leave for the moment." He got up and walked over to the door. It led to a patients' bathroom.

"Don't nod off in the tub," I called after him. He turned back and looked at me with a huge grin on his face.

"I'll leave the door unlocked. Should such an occurrence happen, you can always rush in and save my ass again," he said playfully.

I laughed as he shut the door. His humor was infectious. He was informal, cursed freely, cracked jokes, and had a knack for problem solving. He'd no doubt make a good friend. Later on he…

No. What right did I have to think such thoughts? I was romantically ignorant. Aside from that, I barely knew the man. He was grateful that I'd saved him, but had no idea how much that meant on a personal level. What sort of past did he have? Surely it was nowhere near screwed up as mine.

I sat back in my chair and banished such thoughts as Leonard turned on the water in the adjoining room. I closed my eyes drifted into a nap. A recent chunk of Leonard's past would be revealed soon enough, one that wasn't of a personal nature. I wanted to learn more about him, especially what he'd experienced that day. What had nearly killed this man? Maybe I'd find out shortly.


	7. Tales Of Survival

**Chapter 7: Tales of Survival**

Gazing at my reflection in the mirror, I smiled. The punctures in my cheek had fully healed. The injection hole had closed up too, so I tossed the cotton swab into the bathroom's wastebasket.

As I told her not to wait for me, Terra had already left for the King's conference chamber on the castle's second floor. I pulled on my jacket and boots and took another drink of water. Terra suggested I drink a few cups before I left. We didn't have much time to converse before she left. She lived in Narshe, or had at some point. She knew about its most prolific newspaper. If she lived in the town…

Why'd I think about her like that again? Did she have some…_thing_ for me?

With nothing more to do, I left the room and walked down the hallway, thanking the clinic staff and bidding them farewell. They signed me out, and I took a lift down to the lobby. I wondered if I'd be viewed a hero, but that thought was vanquished quickly.

I'm not the hero type, and for good reason. I'm too selfish, and I _don't_ say that in a negative context. Far from it. Were it not for my selfishness, I'd have been dead long before the Shedairah Military Base even opened its mining facility. Survival, like independence, is innately filled with selfish, self-centered tendencies.

Why I had chosen to inform the King of Figaro about the massacre? Much of the town knows and hates me, but don't think it's entirely mutual. If I'd just gone home and crashed, the nameless attackers could've assaulted the town next. Why they hadn't done so yet was still a mystery, and Narshe was now on a defensive alert just in case. Also, Figaro got much of their materials from Shedairah. As such, the young King was on his was there to request an early shipment. I saved his life as Terra had saved mine.

The fame of heroism was never something I craved. Having been the center of highly negative, unwanted attention growing up, I appreciated anonymity, being able to move about unnoticed. Sure, it was low-key, but it gave me peace of mind.

For the second time that day, I exited the doors of the Starnisden Hospital. Only this time, I wouldn't be coming back.

_change in s & n_

As I waited for Leonard to show up, I observed Edgar's conference room. It was a large room with double doors on the east and west sides that led out to the circular corridor. The floor was arranged like massive steps, each with its own row of desks and seats. The north end of the chamber, where a large Figaroan flag hung against the wall, was set the highest. The sections in front gradually descended level by level down to the front row, where Edgar was placing a of reel into a mechanical device on a hardwood table. He'd removed his cape and now opted for a long, dark blue dress coat.

The Staff Sergeant with the gray flattop came out from the small doorway behind Edgar. It led into an archive closet; he emerged carrying an orange file folder. He placed it on the table and sifted through the papers within.

Before I left him at the hospital, Leonard explained how he knew Staff Sergeant Rodney Hayne. They once worked together in Narshe's mines, and later for a short time at the now defunct Shedairah installation. He said the Rodney was a very casual man who always used his given name around non-military staff. Since he and Leonard became close friends, Leonard took to calling him Sarge.

Edgar's wife, Queen Charise Figaro-Vastelle, sat next to the Chancellor in the front row. An upper class woman from the wealthy nation of Vardigga (nestled in the mountains north of Jidoor), she didn't change her surname but combined it with Edgar's upon their marriage. It was her unique way of celebrating the unity between Figaroan royalty and her own lineage. Next to her were several individuals from Figaro's military, some of whom I recognized. Vonius, the Captain who led Edgar's travel party earlier that day, was one. Many from the top brass of Narshe's armed forces had come down as well.

Talking to a Figaroan officer in the next row behind was Cyan. Setzer was in the last seat in one of the central rows playing solitaire with a deck of non-weapon cards. He'd been flying about when Edgar radioed him, and he landed the Falcon at the shipping and refueling pad near the castle. A few seats away from him were Locke and Celes. I could hear a few exchanges from their conversation. Locke kept fidgeting around, a sign he was on edge.

"I knew it," Locke growled, "I knew supplying Albrook was a bad idea."

"Don't jump to conclusions yet." Celes tried putting him at ease. "We don't know what transpired up there. We should let Terra's new friend tell his story before assuming anything." I realized, I hadn't told anyone else Leonard's name.

"Until we can see it as a mere coincidence, we should cautiously treat it otherwise." Locke eyed the mahogany desktop and frowned. I didn't like the prospect, but I couldn't ignore the distinct possibility that Edgar's charitable, giving nature had brought death sentences to some of his people. Narshe was its own city-state, but it still resided within The Figaroan Monarchy.

Behind the couple was Cid. He now lived in Figaro's northwestern district and was involved in science studies. He'd overseen some of Leonard's medical treatment. The poison had been sent to him for analysis.

Gau sat behind Cyan, with Relm leaning upon his shoulder. Word had gotten around, that the man I'd saved had a story to tell. After all we Returners had been through together, it seemed wrong to tell the youngest pair to sit out. Besides, they weren't so young any more. Gau had even learned a few basics of military combat from Cyan and Sabin.

Relm bluntly commented on someone's absence. "As I figured, he's not here, fucking cold prick. But it makes sense, knowing how dad is."

The remark about Shadow caught Cyan's attention. The General abruptly spun to face Relm with a dirty look. "Lady Relm. How dare you speak in such a manner. Sir Clyde is a man of courage and friendship. Respect him as you respect me. That is not how you should speak of your own father." Cyan first fought alongside Shadow on the phantom train shortly after Doma's fall, and instantly came to respect the ninja's fighting spirit.

"No, it's not," she replied. Cyan relaxed, frowned again once she added, "It's not harsh enough. Plus, he hasn't been acting like my father, so I refuse to respect him as such."

"Grudges can blind thee." Cyan tried reasoning with her. She was young but quite intelligent, an inevitable result of being a Returner her age. "Remember, he fled so you could live in safety. And never forget that while we traveled together, you learned many arts of the ninja from him."

Relm didn't waver in her disgust. "He doesn't have that excuse anymore. And he never taught me anything intentionally. I just watched him and picked up on the techniques."

Cyan shook his head and went back his chat with the officer. It was expected that Shadow would be absent. As he was secretive with his activities and whereabouts, we had no means of contacting him. We only saw him on rare occasions, like Strago's wake, Edgar's radio gear expo, the Returners' Victory Feast, and that was it. Interceptor was now living with Relm. Shadow's current location was anyone's guess. Maybe he felt unwelcome around his own daughter. Her prejudice attitude would certainly play a big role in that.

I noted some other absences. If information on Shadow's post-Kefka activities was scarce, info in Gogo's was non-existent. He/she….it had vanished from the Faclon's deck sometime after Setzer flew out of the tower, and that was it. The absences of Mog and Umaro were easily explained though. Narshe was on elevated defense. The moogles and yeti were aiding those efforts.

Edgar finished preparing the device and went into the filing room. A deep voice sounded behind me. "Hi Terra. So the man's up an' at 'em, I hear." I turned to face the speaker.

"Oh, hey Sabin." I greeted him as he took the seat next to mine. "That's right. And has he got a story to tell, though maybe you've heard the news already."

"Yeah. Locke and Celes came by the dojo earlier this afternoon and told me about your pal's wandering and catching my brother en route to some Narshean mining place. It was attacked, and your bud was the lone survivor."

I nodded. "Indeed, and his name's Leonard. I'm sure he'll introduce himself when the inquiry begins, once he arrives.

Sabin looked towards the front of the room. "That's right about now."

Edgar reappeared with two padded folding chairs. He set them up, one at each end of the table. He whispered something to Rodney, who closed the folder and placed it next to the equipment before taking a front row seat. Then, through the storage room doorway walked a revitalized Leonard. He took a seat with Edgar at the table up front.

Edgar clapped his hands, and the chatter within the large room quickly ceased. He cleared his throat and spoke into some kind of wireless microphone device on the table. "Good evening ladies and gentlemen," Edgar began in his tone reserved for business. "I've called you here because we've a situation on out hands that, until today, remained completely secret. Several days ago, both the Shedairah Mining Facility and military complex were attacked by some unknown group. The young man here to my right," he pointed across the table to Leonard "claims to be the sole survivor of that attack."

A flurry of muffled chatter filled the chamber, dying down as Edgar spoke again. "Let us begin", he said, pressing a switch on the device. Its reel started turning, ready to record Leonard's every word. "For the record, verify your name and affiliation." Edgar slid the wireless mic between them.

"I'm Leonard Gurosawn of the Shedairah Mining Field Workers' Guild, serial number 425-91-8195." Edgar nodded, prompting Leonard to go on. "On that early afternoon, I was in isolation performing the cleaning tasks of RW, or restroom watch, in the barracks at the demand of the base's commanding officer, Major…Bozwensc." According to the story, Leonard was working for some time when the lights went out, believing this to be some training drill and not questioning it. Even when there came a few tremors, he presumed they were just a few minor earthquakes, especially given the absence of hazard lights and alarms. Of course, knowing how his tale ended, these were anything but drills and natural occurrences.

About ten minutes later, the quakes escalated in their intensity, and he could hear shouting out in the hallway. At that point he was about to leave, but a huge explosion from the hall threw him to the floor, where he lay dazed for an undetermined amount of time.

By this time Leonard knew something was up, though thoughts of an attack hadn't yet crossed his mind. The door to the hallway was pinned shut by something beyond, where fires rages and sprinklers failed. Fortunately, a ventilation duct in the wall allowed him escape. He descended into a room with some piston machines used for crushing raw materials. A fire was burning in the next room over and many of the pistons around him had exploded. He still thought, or maybe hoped, that it was all some huge accident.

However, those hopes were extinguished moments later when he found the gutted corpse of an armed soldier. Now it was clear; this was intentional.

Edgar squinted, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. "Did you have any idea who was behind it?"

Leonard took a deep breath before answering. "I wasn't even sure if 'who' was applicable. It looked like a beast had killed him, judging from the size of that wound. The next room I came upon was a large chamber used for processing metals. There was even more evidence of a battle in there. Sections of catwalk had fallen, crushing a few who stood below. Dead soldiers had been stripped of their weapons by mining workers, who must have shot each other in a panic."

A few mumbles came from the audience as he went on. He found something else splattered about the room, a shiny fluid of darkened yellow. He presumed it was blood from some creature that came into the mines from the uncharted cavern depths below. Yet there were no dead animals in sight, as if they were later hauled away. This evidence was, yet also wasn't consistent with a monster attack.

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. I'd wondered if such a thing would happen to one of Edgar's assets, on the very day I read the article covering the Foraziale incident. I even specifically asked about Shedairah. Edgar confidently said that its personnel were the finest. But this…force that brought down Shedairah was even finer than the best of Narshe. If Locke was right about the monster attack evidence in Foraziale being staged, intentionally planted as a distraction…

Maybe the extremist gangs from the southern continent were capable of overseas missions. Nothing Leonard said was proof of a monster attack.

The story proceeded. The next part of Leonard's escape involved him dangling from an overhead pipe, crossing it with hand-over-hand motions to compensate for a broken bridge. Once in the base, he tried using an undamaged radio, but never got a clear signal. As I expected, the details of Leonard's story only got worse as it progressed. "I found some bodies further down. Though the first one had its entire face torn off, I recognized the tattoos on the wrists and the decorations on the uniform. These were the remains of the commanding officer, Major Adin Bozwensc. I also found another corpse in a medical clinic. I identified this casualty as Quentir Braslino, a man hand-picked by the Major to supervise the mining operations."

A few whispers arose from the Narshean military officers, before they stifled their muted chatter. Leonard kept at it. "I came upon another room with a radio bank. The person sitting in front had been stabbed in the neck with some giant claw or spiked bone shard, detached from something's body. Immediately after that came a flapping sound behind me. I turned around, and saw…it."

"It?" Edgar's voice held a note of suspense. All the hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end. Maybe now we could finally get a solid idea of those behind the savage attack.

"It was a large moth, beige in color with shiny black eyes and a wing span of probably three feet. It charged me with the large spikes on its leg tips. I dodged, fell on a chair, and dropped my weapon. As I reached for it, something with needles stabbed my cheek. I pulled them out, found my weapon, and killed the creature."

Were insurgents from the southern continent responsible after all? This was the first real indication of an actual monster attack. Even if there was no dead sample of the creature, there was the poison, saved and stored by Cid. That by itself was enough to back up Leonard's tale.

I didn't know whether to feel relieved or alarmed at the presence of an actual monster. The good news was that it ruled out extremists with an axe to grind.

The bad news was that a monster attack generally didn't fit with the other descriptions that Leonard shared. The loss of emergency systems, sprinklers, and radio communication all suggested tactical thinking. Monsters, in spite of their aggression, endurance, and innate capabilities, lacked the intelligence for strategies like this. Yet there was a monster in the base. This second scenario, though preferable to the first, didn't make any sense. The presence of a strange new monster didn't explain how a…highly strategic monster attack had been pulled off.

Unless…

When magic died from this world, nature kicked itself into high gear, rejuvenating some of the damage from the great collapse. Sunken land masses were pushed back above sea level, mending severed continents back together in places. Had such major topographic activity caused undiscovered monster breeds to relocate elsewhere, like the Shedairah mines?

Leonard found the guards at the base's west entrance dead. He wondered if the attack had commenced from both the surface and underground caves. Though no more casualties awaited him outside, he did see the radio antenna had been torn apart, one more sign of intentional sabotage. The cable car at the east end was also destroyed.

Only now did Leonard realize the severity of the attack. He should've reached that conclusion before he'd gotten that far, but he wasn't a seasoned adventurer like us, and our ventures held a sense of logic. This attack did not. "I had to inform someone about this," Leonard paused. "Not knowing the top brass, that someone was you."

A hole in the western fence provided Leonard's exit from the base grounds. He sought a chocobo stable in the woods. During his walk, he made a few pit stops, and his vision became blurry. At the time, he believed these were simply the effects of stress, though I could assume the real cause.

"I got to the stable and mounted a bird. As I rode, I theorized about what happened. The blackout was clearly the start of it. I lived because I'd been isolated from everyone else. While considering the giant moth's origins, my chocobo swerved sideways and threw me off its back, running back to its pen. Only then did I realize, in my nervous thinking, I'd been choking it with my death grip on the reins. At that point my cheek wounds began to sting. I realized this was a sign of poisoning." Leonard explained his strenuous walk to the train tracks, where he hopped a train. He rode in the caboose until guards found him and, believing he was a train robber, ordered him to leave.

After getting thrown on the train, Leonard continued on foot, staggering, sweating, using his weapon for balance, all the while moving on, until he reached the hillside overlooking the capital, where his strength finally gave out. "Then I collapsed and saw what I believed was a hallucination. Everything just went black after that." When Leonard finished, he looked straight at me and smiled. I threw him a wink. Sabin grinned as well, but I reminded him that he and Leonard hadn't been officially introduced.

"I see." Edgar pressed a button on the sound machine. The reel stopped turning. As he removed it from the device, he turned to Rodney. "Have there been any disturbances elsewhere?"

"No Sir. All contacted remote locations reported no strange activity."

I was glad to hear that. The Shedairah incident was enough by itself. It was still unclear if Shedairah was a just random target or assaulted with specific motive. With unknown enemies like this which clearly possessed some strategic thinking, either one was possible.

Edgar stood from his seat. "What's the current state of Narshe?" He asked one of the Narshean officers.

"The town is stable, but the friends and families of all who were stationed at the base are demanding to know where they are, and why they've heard nothing from them. Things could get ugly if we beat around the bush any longer."

A frown spread on Edgar's face. "I see. They deserve to know the truth, and they deserve to know it now. I'll accompany you back to the town and deliver the news to in person. For now, the official report will be a monster attack that yielded no survivors." Edgar glanced at Leonard, who nodded in approval. It was best to keep such information secret for now, I gathered. "General Garamonde. Sergeant Hayne. Captain Kades. If you would accompany me." Edgar spoke to Cyan, Rodney, and Vonius. "Tomorrow we'll think over our next step in dealing with this monster attack. This meeting is dismissed." With that, Edgar left the chamber for the back room.

The chatter which filled the room before the inquiry had returned. "I guess now's the time to say hi." Sabin looked at me.

"Sure, why not introduce yourself. I told him about your playing a part in his rescue, even though I still take most of the credit." Sabin and I both laughed as we stood up and made our way down to the front of the conference chamber. "Oh, he once thought that the King of Figaro only had a sister."

_change in n_

So the spotlight was on me no more. Oh well. I didn't exactly ask to be the center of attention. But I still met the King of Figaro in person as a result. That meant something.

I was looking into the back room when a deep voice asked "How ya' doin' champ?" I turned and stood face-to face with a colossal man who dwarfed even the King. He wore a tight sleeveless shirt and loose sweat pants. His chest and arms were filled with nothing but sheer muscle, and his blonde hair was part long spikes, part tied-back ducktail. He grinned and offered his hand—almost twice the size of my own. I took his hulking paw. "Unless I'm having one serious identity crisis, I am still Edgar's _brother_."

"Sabin?" I asked.

"That's me. Sabin Rene Figaro, fellow Returner and friend of Terra's. I'm also her blitz teacher."

"The blitz?" I said with a small hint of recognition.

"You study it too?" He asked.

"Well, not really. I am vaguely familiar with the mental aspects and totally uneducated on the physical ones." I only read about bits and pieces about the blitz art. The Ts'aosra'iy had references to something like it.

"You know, for a person who never fought alongside us, you sure are made from tough shit." Sabin was impressed with my story." It'd kick ass to have you on our side. You could be a Returner, you know."

"Keep in mind, I never went looking for that action. It just found me. I'm not here to play the fuckin' hero."

Sabin's mouth dropped open. "You don't want to join the worlds finest? It beats being a train robber." He started laughing deeply.

"Very funny." Sabin's joke, though at my expense, cheered me up. He was a blitz master, but he wasn't a humorless stone. That's a stereotype that has long plagued people of martial arts and spiritual studies.

As Sabin contained his hardy laughter, Terra came down from behind him. "So, now that you've had your little moments of fame, what's next?" Terra asked, eagerly.

My stomach growled, a reminder that I hadn't eaten a full meal in almost a week. "I've done what I came here for. Now I'll grab some real dinner, go home, and go to bed. It's been one hell of a day, don't you think?"

Terra nodded. "Do you live anywhere near Narshe's moogle caves?"

"Hardly. I'm nowhere near that neighborhood."

"I see. I live in a district that's just west of center." She paused and added, "But I'm not too far from the moogle caves."

So she did live in Narshe. I played that idea. "I'll pay them a visit tomorrow morning. I've nothing better to do. I'm out of a job now." Though I'd lost my old train pass in my wallet, Edgar provided me with a spare, as token of gratitude.

My stomach growled again, louder this time. "Terra, I don't mean to split so hastily, but I'm hungry. I'll see you tomorrow at the moogles' cave. Say, ten-ish." Sabin and I shook hands again.

As I neared chamber's side exit, Terra called after me. "Right. You've more Returners to meet. See you then."

"Bye," I said before leaving the conference room.

Edgar and I had mulled over a few non-inquiry details beforehand, and we both agreed the best thing public explanation was to declare Shedairah a monster attack. Though it seemed much more given its tactical complexity, there was no actual proof it was anything else. As far as covering up the lone survivor part, that was simply done to ensure I wouldn't have scoop-hungry tabloid reporters stalking me afterwards.

Blocks from the grand castle was the train station. The train was boarding, but it was a private ride for the Narshean officers, Edgar, and another of his travel parties. There was only a short wait for the next train to Narshe though. I boarded and it sped away.

Once I got home, got some money, and replaced my wallet, I went out to eat. One grilled cheese sandwich with bacon would usually fill me up, but since I hadn't eaten a full meal in so long, I had two. Then I returned home, happy to sleep in my normal bed once more.

Unlike the poison-induced coma, I welcomed this sleep.

_change in s & n_

"So his name's Leonard." Setzer joined Sabin and I. "He seems pretty interesting. Bring him here sometime. I'm sure he'd love to see the Falcon."

"Sure. Just don't go into another bragging bout when showing him the airship."

"That's the spirit." The gambler checked his wristwatch. "I'd best return to my wings. I had the cleaning crew do a service call while I was here, and they should be done about now. Gotta pay 'em for emptying the garbage and the septic tanks. Like your new bud, I'll se ya' later."

Sabin and I waved as Setzer walked out the doors. Sabin than turned to me. "You know something? Leonard seemed a tad familiar with the blitz when I told him I was your instructor. Speaking of which, I believe you have a lesson tomorrow. If he's interested, bring him along. I like the guy."

"Of course you would." I looked around. Everyone else about the room was preoccupied with conversation. Relm was rambling as Gau listened passively, and Cid was talking with Celes and Locke. "I guess I'll be leaving too."

Sabin gave me his signature bear hug and walked up the stairs to the exit. As I followed, I head Locke's voice behind me. "So what do you think?" He asked. "Still thinking it's not guerillas from down south?" Locke's face had a slight glimmer of hope.

"Of course. Though whatever happened there is still bizarre, that it's not their handiwork is comforting, in a very odd way. Like he said, Edgar will start investigation other monster-related possibilities tomorrow," I replied. "I'm heading home now to make myself dinner."

"Take care, Terra." Locke waved before returning to Cid and Celes.

When I got home, I was quite hungry. Maybe Leonard's tale had increased my appetite. I pulled a container of frozen pasta noodles out of my fridge and boiling them. As I ate, I tried contacting my father, but his words from this morning would be all until the next time.

I went to bed early, partly because I was tired from the day's events, and also because I planned to get up earlier than usual the next day. I put my jewelry into the box on my dresser, tossed my lace top and jeans into the hamper in my bathroom, put on my favorite blue nightgown, and crawled into bed.

_change in s & n_

"Kupo!"

"Kupopo!"

"Kupo…po…oh!"

I had no schedule to keep today. Being late for work wouldn't mean anything now. Hell, I didn't work anywhere for the time being.

I ate, got dressed, and caught a train at my leisure. Not the usual train into the northern mountains (presently shut down and sealed off in light of recent events), but the train that went through Narshe. I departed in the southwestern part of town and headed to a cave in hillside.

I was greeted by my old friends. They were happy to see me, a feeling that I returned. It's rather odd when your greatest friends aren't even your own species. If it weren't for Sarge and Grandpa, all my close friends would be moogles.

But that was my life before waking up in the hospital the previous morning. With people like Terra, Edgar, Sabin, and the rest of the Returners crew, I could put more confidence in mankind.

The moogles wagged their tails and wiggled their antennae as I walked through their dwelling and sat on a wooden bench lined with lobo fur. Just then, their self-appointed 'leader' walked into the room and joined me.

"Kupo. It's you Leonard. I heard about Shedairah and thought you were a goner. Anyways, what brings you here? Looking to work in this mine again?" Mog asked in a high, chipmunk-ish voice.

"Maybe later Mog. Right now I'm just waiting for a friend to show up. A mutual friend of ours actually."

"Who?" Mog asked.

"Terra Branford. I said I'd be here today, and that she should come here to meet up."

Mog's beady black eyes went wide. "How do you know her?"

Mog hadn't attended the inquiry the night before, so he didn't have all the facts. I was direct. It's my style. "You know she saved a total stranger a short while back?"

"Of course. She was practically bragging about it, kupo. Why?"

If Mog was a Returner, he could be privy to my survivalist title. He wasn't any dipshit media reporter. He was, well—_Mog_. That was enough.

"I was that stranger. She found me after I escaped the ransacked Shedairah base, when I collapsed in the mountains from poisoning."

"Fuckupo!" The whole cave room instantly filled with moogle profanity.

_change in s & n_

Since I wasn't going straight to the capital this morning, it was the ideal opportunity for a morning run. I put on a black tank top and a dark violet pair of silk pants, the kind that Sabin and Gau often wore, loose except at the tightened waist and ankles. Only these were tailored for a woman's size.

I pulled on my sweater, stuck my purse and keys into a pocket, and headed for the train station. I rode until the last stop in Narshe, at which point I departed for a morning jog.

I first passed a commerce plaza that had barely opened. Only a few shops had any signs of activity and shoppers were non-existent. After that I passed a construction yard when a building's skeleton was being assembled.

In the old days—three years and an eternity ago—I would've been alarmed and after seeing what constituted building equipment within the city. But the Empire was dead and its leftover technology was put to a more practical use. Though their magical power was gone, they still were machines that, with the imagination of someone like Edgar, could come in handy. Old magitek armors were now being used in the construction of this building, pulling loads of construction materials about, or helping the cranes fit beams into place. The symbol of the Empire's tyranny didn't bring any flashbacks. In fact, with its usage beneficial now, it was just yet another reminder that Gestahl's Empire was in its grave.

At last I came upon the entrance to the moogle caves. Some high pitched laughter came from inside. Had someone beaten me here? I walked inside and sure enough, he had.

Leonard sat slouched on a fur-covered seat as several generic moogles laughed and kupo'd around him. Suddenly, the moogle mob swarmed in my direction, with a choir of kupo's. "Hey there," I said to them, kneeling down and patting each on the head.

"Oh, now _you_ get all the attention," a voice laughed from above the kupo chorus. Leonard walked over, with Mog right behind him. Leonard was dressed as blandly as he'd been the previous day. He wore faded black jeans and an equally faded gray t-shirt, along with his usual jacket and army boots. The silver pendant was still on his neck chain, and that was interesting enough since I'd yet learn what that icon actually was.

"Hey Leonard," I greeted my new friend, than my old one. "Hey Mog."

"Mornin' Terra," greeted the social moogle. "I was just talking to your new pal here about the heroine's calling. Never thought that you'd be saving the hide of my good ol' buddy Leonard Gurosawn, kupo."

"Neither did I Mog. I got pretty lucky to save and befriend your pal."

"Who was luckier that day?" Leonard piped in.

"I know all about the whole Shedairah thing. Leonard shared that much, but won't go into the details." Mog looked at his friend, our friend.

"Ask the King. I don't feel like telling the same drawn-out story twice. It's all recorded. I'm sure he'll let you hear, being a Returner and all." Leonard gave the moogle a back pat.

"Well yeah, later maybe. We need to stay here and help the town until further notice," Mog sighed.

"I guess we'll being going now." I stood up and gave Mog a good-bye pat on the head.

"Kupo. See ya'." Mog retreated back into a cave room, motioning for the others to follow.

"So what's on the agenda for today?" Leonard asked as we left the cave and walked through the streets to the nearby train stop.

"I have a blitz lesson with Sabin. Once that's over it'll be around lunchtime. After that, I'm not sure. We could stop by the castle and see how Edgar's investigating the attack." I turned to meet his eyes. "And I've more friends you have to meet."

He nodded. "Sounds about right. I figured you were planning on doing just that."

We walked past some more houses. It felt odd, but interesting. Though we'd only introduced ourselves the day before, we really didn't feel like total strangers. Maybe it was my Returner status. Though he knew nothing of me before that day, he knew of Edgar by name, and had known Mog personally. Having mutual acquaintances made it seem like we'd known each other longer than we actually had.

But we truly were relative strangers. We knew little of one another's background. I wondered when and how I'd spill the beans about my hybrid ancestry and my growing up as a lifeless puppet of Gestahl. Leonard would surely know of the first and second Imperial attacks on Narshe. Had he actually seen Tritoch, or had he chosen not to gaze upon the esper uncovered in the city's northern mines? Many townspeople chose not to, given that it basically brought the Empire to their doorstep.

There'd be a time to ask later. No point in playing twenty questions just yet.

We stood under the platform's canopy. Leonard was leaning against one of the stone support columns. He looked over at me, than suddenly turned away. "Damn," he whispered.

"What is it?" I asked, keeping my voice equally low.

Leonard kept looking away. "Behind you."

I saw a woman in her late thirties or early forties with short wavy hair looking in our direction. I turned back to Leonard. "Who is she?" I maintained my low tone of voice.

"Later," he answered without turning back.

Confused, I just kept looking at the empty train tracks. Then I heard the woman's voice, loud and clear. "Well. Leonard Gurosawn. Fancy meeting you here this morning." Despite her friendly words, there was clear hostility in her voice.

"Fuck." Leonard's voice was no longer a whisper.

"What?" I asked. "Who is that woman?"

He shook his head before turning around. "You don't want to know, but you'll see." His voice was underlined with a grim tone. I looked at the woman as she walked over to us. Before I had a chance to ask anything else, she stopped and cleared her throat.

"So Leonard," she asked, narrowing her eyes as her voice became sharper. "Do you know what today is?" Leonard looked down and swore under his breath. If he was about to answer her, she beat him to it. "It was ten years ago today that my mother died."

Leonard clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. The chance encounter with this woman had clearly upset him. He took a deep breath, and finally faced her as she stared him down with a scowl. "I know that," he said in a calm, slow voice. "You let me know about this last year, and the year before, at least. Don't you think it's time you moved on?"

Normally, a calm, simple response like that would diffuse this kind of situation, but Leonard's collected reply only angered the woman. She stomped up to him, almost knocking me over, and got right in his face. "Don't you dare disrespect my mother's memory by ignoring this matter, do you hear me?" She raised her voice to all but a scream. She clearly was demanding a reaction from Leonard, and he in turn was trying with equal determination not to give her one.

"You know why my mother died? If you made yourself forget, I'll make you remember. She died from a disease that our family could not afford to cure. We couldn't pay for treatment because we'd been conned out of most of our savings in the months prior. We'd been ripped off. And do you how that happened?" The irate woman pointed a finger menacingly at Leonard, who just stood expectantly, as if he knew was next. "We were conned by your father."

The mention of his father made him cringe, but he regained his composure. "That was my father's doing, not mine. He's not even alive anymore." His words were shaky, but his tone was still calm. He was trying to reason with this woman, but his efforts were futile.

"You're still a Gurosawn. You're still his son. He lives on in you. You've been living happily, spoiled off the large monetary sums that he handed down to you on a silver platter. That was _our_ money. Your daddy willed you the riches that he stole from us, and my mother paid the highest price. She'd dead because of him, and you're living the high life." Her voice grew louder, despite this being a one-way hostility display.

"He never willed me anything. He didn't even appreciate me. I was the un-favored son. He treated me just as he treated you, if not worse. I've told you that already. Any of my pop's cronies will only speak of me with contempt. Just ask around." Frustration was beginning to consume Leonard.

"You can't run away from the past Leonard. You can't hide like a coward from the truth." The woman went on, despite Leonard's acting like an innocent man with nothing to hide. Her own words even reinforced that. She was blaming _his_ _father_, not him.

His desperate words echoed his non-evasiveness. "I never did either one. I'm here. I'm not trying to avoid you. You wouldn't let me even if I tried. Why do you insist upon blaming me for something that I clearly didn't do? Why must you compare me to someone who never even cared for me at all? Why are you even doing this now when you've hit me with the same speech before?"

I was beginning to feel red in the face. This woman was blaming Leonard for something he never did. Her rage was inexplicably fueled by his rationality. His fists were shaking now, as he was trying desperately to control himself. He didn't want to hurt her, but his inner turmoil was seething inside. He wasn't alone. It took much reflection on Sabin's training to keep myself from grabbing the woman and slamming her face-first through the wooden benches on the train platform.

My mind was filled with memories of enslavement under the Empire. I was the Magitek-Riding Imperial Witch, without even trying. The people of Narshe wanted my severed head resting on a pike for things I really wasn't responsible for causing. Even figureheads like Edgar and Banon had been ridiculed by the Narshean guardsmen for merely associating with me.

Then there was Celes, who'd been cursed at by those she chose to protect, slandered as a loyalist to the very dictatorship she had sworn to bring down, judged for a past that she was greatly ashamed of.

And now this. Leonard was being accused of something that he never did at all.

I was seeing through a tint of red. A vein throbbed in my neck. The very sight of that woman became hideous. I stepped in right there. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I nearly shouted into the woman's ear. It got her attention. "He did nothing wrong. He said it. Even you said it. He's not responsible for what his father did." I lowered my voice and add some reasoning. "Even if you've been wronged and victimized, that doesn't give you the right to blame an innocent man."

She looked at me for a moment, than looked back at Leonard, who eyed at me in stunned gratitude. The woman went off again. "Ha! Of course. Now you're using your dad's money to entice fangirls into being your body guards. I wonder if your big bro taught you how to treat women." My reasoning had failed too. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jogging pants before the urge to slap the woman black and blue crossed my mind. The restraint of both Leonard and me was being pushed to its limits.

The woman turned back to me. "Sweetheart," she began with a voice of mock sympathy. "If this sorry excuse for a human being ever hurts you, there are places that can help. I just hope you haven't become his ever-obedient sex slave by now."

Before I could snap back, I heard stomps off to the side. Leonard stepped and put his face right up against hers. His voice remained quiet, but gained a hostile edge. "It's not enough to fuck with me at every chance, but now you must fuck with her?" Leonard faced me. "Tell her who you are. She won't believe it from me."

Time to put her in her place. "I'm Terra Branford, of the Returners. I'm a friend of Kind Edgar." I pointed at Leonard. "And Leonard here is a friend to all of us." The best splash of cold water in the face was the simple truth. At least it was _mostly_ truth.

That did the trick. The woman's self-righteous demeanor hit a sinkhole. The pseudo-authority, the bravado, the false sense of dominance was lost now. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes went wide. She staggered to keep her balance, as if the gentlest breeze would knock her over. "I don't believe it," she gasped as tears welled up in her eyes. She fully knew I'd been truthful with my name. Maybe now she would apologize, not just to Leonard, but to both of us. "I thought you p-p-people defended the good citizens of this world. But now you've befriend the wrong people. I thought you were respectable."

So much for an apology. First she blames an innocent man for a crime that he never committed, and then she insults a world heroine who defends him, even when that heroine played a role in saving her life from a deranged madman who ripped the world asunder, thinking her own victimization was an excuse all the while.

As the temperamental woman sniffled and stepped back, Leonard stepped forward and glared with a 'piss off' look. The woman turned and ran to the other end of the train platform. Leonard took a deep breath and let the rage inside him die down.

The fires within my own mind were now being extinguished. When they too were no more, I turned to him. "What the fuck was that all about?" I asked.

Leonard forced a laugh. "Was it not obvious? She has a grudge against my old man and takes it out on me. At least she did, until we both bitch-slapped her with reality."

"And you've been tolerating that shit all this time?"

"It's not that I _tolerated _it. It's not that simple. She really was a victim of my dad's…misdeeds. I can't hate her even if she hates me. It's my dad who I…" Leonard cut himself off. He now realized I'd just learned something about him that he didn't want to share, at least not yet.

A loud whistle came from the east. The train to Figaro was approaching. It stopped, we boarded, and took seats. I began to wonder who really had a more troubled and hurt-filled past as the train started toward its destination.


	8. Enigmatic And Elusive

**Chapter 8: Enigmatic and Elusive**

Our train ride to Figaro was spent in a companionable yet awkward silence. Neither Terra nor I spoke of the bitter, one-sided altercation.

I had no idea how she'd react to the woman's spiteful ramblings, but I was quite grateful she intervened, even if her own patience was also stretched thin. At least she understood that I wasn't my father, and therefore couldn't be held accountable for his actions.

The more I thought of it, the more I realized just how much a series of negative events actually brought about something fortunate. Some fast-acting poison, a fall from a chocobo, getting thrown off a freight train had earned me something I didn't have the previous week; friends in high places. I made a sacred vow to never badmouth dumb luck again.

Still, this didn't change that she'd learned the wrong thing about me too soon. It just didn't feel right.

"Next stop, Northern Figaro." The train conductor's voice suddenly came through on the loud speaker.

"That's our stop," Terra announced as the train slowed to a halt. We both left the train and stepped off in northern Figaro.

Though most of the architecture was plain in this district, Sabin's dojo stood out. It wasn't just the shrubbery and stone decorations around the place. This building was a huge three-story structure of solid mortar, with ornate columns supporting overhangs of slopping roof. The roof's corners were adorned with long beams that curved outwards then upwards at the tip. Wide stairs lead up to the double doors, which were framed in decorative masonry work that resembled twined ropes covered with plant leaves. A couple moderately sized windows dotted the wall at all three floor levels. And this was just the exterior.

I had expectations of what to find inside the building. Sure enough, I wasn't at all surprised.

The majority of the first floor was a single large training room. The ceiling hung low on the room's periphery, but was raised up in the center. Green marble pillars stretched up to the low ceiling, just before it shifted up. A similar gray marble comprised the floor, and large dark red carpets were laid in the center. Cushioned benches lined the walls, and a few tables and chairs were placed before them. Decorative light fixtures hung from the ceiling's lowered parts. Taking in all the elements of the structure reinforced the conclusion I'd made already.

The place bore elements similar to those of traditional Jrysthovuhn architecture.

Most people have never heard of Jrysthovuh. It's not exactly a place of common knowledge. Given history, seal themselves off from the outside world was expected. Okay, they weren't _totally_ reclusive. They'd often leave their own territory and visit places beyond, and even had a few of their products sold by merchants abroad. Their most well-known creation was some ninja weapon, edges or scrolls, I didn't recall specifically.

Still, allowing outsiders to venture into their borders was unheard of, possibly forbidden. Not that the surrounding environmental terrain would allow anyone safe passage. How the Jrysthovuhns actually made it back and fourth across such a terrifying environment was, like most everything else about their culture, a well-guarded secret that would never leave their confines.

I could only wonder how they fared during the great collapse. As magic was the source of the destruction, and Jrysthovuhn mystics were supposedly unmatched in their magic-neutralizing abilities, it was entirely possible they'd survived completely unscathed. Months could've passed before anyone there knew of the catastrophic events which unfolded far outside their dwelling.

Maybe now that magic was extinct, they'd open themselves up to the outside world. Such a drastic change wouldn't happen overnight, that was for sure.

"Howdy." Sabin greeted us from the doorway in the corner. As a blitz master, he had to know at least a thing or two about Jrysthovuh, besides vague hints of its building style. One didn't teach a martial art without knowing something of its supposed origins. Maybe he was familiar with the Ts'aosra'iy too. "Ah, Leonard, you came here by the train. Gracious, I hope you didn't rob it."

"Come on. That's getting old. Not that it was humorous the first time." I simply could not return Sabin's joke. I was still in a bad mood from the train station encounter.

"I'm just fuckin' with ya' Leonard. It's all in good taste. From time to time, I still do that with Cyan, another member of our close circle."

"Oh," Terra laughed "now that you two get along, I'm eager to see what arts and techniques you'll reveal today. Let's get to it."

"Right." Sabin scratched his back. "Something that'll make ya' sweat. Pun intended. So let's get, shall I say, _warmed_ up. Leonard, feel free to have seat and stick around." He walked to the center of the floor with Terra. I took a seat in a corner of the room. The sound of the twin doors opening came from off to the side as I continued admiring the room's decorative style.

One of the paintings on the wall depicted a group of moogles dancing in the snow. They often did that in Narshe. The mountains had areas of permafrost that never melted, even in the summer.

"Ummm….Terra's friend sitting in the corner. I forgot your name." A slightly high-pitched female voice came out of nowhere. I turned away from the dancing moogle image.

She looked like a teenage girl in an oversized white shirt haphazardly stuffed into some faded jeans. She had these pronounced dimples that accentuated her smile and dark blonde hair that came down just below her chest, not as long as Terra's or mine.

"Leonard," I said.

"Oh, that's it," she nodded. "Any friend of Terra's is a friend of mine as well, like it or not."

"Sure," I replied, amused. "That's fine by me. And you are?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Artist extraordinaire, and intermediate ninja of the Returners." She grinned as if she were giving an interview for a magazine. "Name's Relm. That's R-E-L-M, not to be confused with domain. Relm Arrowny." She put one hand on her chest and bowed. "You notice the framed masterpiece on the wall by chance?" She took a seat next to me and tossed her hair over her shoulder. Her ear on that side had seven piercings.

"Yeah, very life-like. Almost looked like photography for a second."

"Kick-ass," she beamed. "And I've got plenty more where that came from." She pulled one of the wooden tables up and placed her black book on top. The cover of the book boasted in glittering letters **The Realm of Relm**. How appropriate. I flipped through some pages and found a picture of a couple, clearly Locke and Celes, embracing. A few hearts were painted in red and pink tones to stress the romantic vibe. I saw another picture of a moogle, this one holding hands with a large white furry animal.

"That's Mog and Umaro," Relm pointed out, "our moogle pal and yeti companion, or maybe I should say subordinate." That struck me. I'd heard of a yeti that lived in Narshe's city mines, but had never seen one for myself. In all the time I worked in the town's mining tunnels, Mog never mentioned this Umaro at all. I presumed Umaro was currently aiding the moogles in the city's emergency defense.

"Thirsty?" Relm asked apropos of nothing. I nodded, which pleased her. "Good. I'm also a pro in the art of food. I'll bring some of my best beverage." She got up and walked off to the far corner. The next page showed art of a more comical nature. It was a rather crude and colorless drawing of a man walking past a factory labeled 'ship refueling base' as a massive gray cloud was emerging from his butt. The caption above read 'Passing gas while passing gas!'.

I laughed aloud as I got the play on words. Relm certainly had a tomboyish sense of humor.

"That one always gets a laugh or two." Relm came back with two glasses, filled with ice cubes and a yellow drink. "This is what I call Arrowny's Finest. It's all natural lemonade that's best served ice cold." She grinned and handed me a glass.

I turned the next page and saw a drawing of two figures. One was a man dressed all in black with a dagger in one hand and a throwing blade in the other while a brown and black dog strode alongside him. The next figure was a bearded old man in a red bathrobe with his hands stretched high. A swirl of blue and grey spiraled about between his palms, like an ocean vortex or a funnel cloud.

"Another two from our elite group" Relm commented. "The man in black is my dad. His name's Clyde, though he insists upon going by Shadow and asks that we address him as such. He's a fighting man, I'll give him that, but as a dad he goes AWOL all the time, he's my father in name only."

"Dad sucks?" I asked.

"Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. The man in red was quite different though. That's Strago, my gramps. He was more of a father than my real dad was, seeing that I lived with him until he passed away three years ago.

After viewing Relm's realm, we talked amongst ourselves. Relm's lemonade was quite tasty, and it was more than just a refreshing snack. It also provided the resources for a little belching contest.

After several rounds of trying to out-burp one another, the door swung open and Sabin entered, followed by a panting Terra. I'd been so focused on looking at Relm's art book that I didn't even know they'd left.

"You okay?" Sabin asked as Terra brushed her bangs off of her sweat-streaked forehead.

"I'm fine," she answered between deep breaths. "I just had no idea that the fire dance, or fire aura technique, would be so tiring. I hardly moved at all."

Sabin laughed hardily. "Well that's because it's a different kind of fire than the stuff you once played with. It's not a spell. It comes from your own body heat."

I'd just missed something fancy. "Where'd you go?"

Sabin pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. "To the field out back. Some of the moves require large space or distant targets, and this room's too small to suffice."

Relm got up and walked to the corner behind Sabin, coming back with another glass of lemonade. She gave it to Terra, who swallowed it vigorously before unleashing a loud belch that could've put any from our competition to shame.

"And that's all for today Terra." Sabin turned to the front door, from which a burly young man with a short brown ponytail had entered. "Ready for the rock climb Gau?" he asked the teenager.

"Indeed," said Gau. He seemed mousy, the polar opposite of Relm.

Sabin began following him, but turned back to me. "Oh, Leonard. As soon as you get a chance, stop by the farm in the south of town. Edgar said he's got some work for you there, now that you've been, putting it mildly, laid off from your old job." I nodded and he left the dojo room. Edgar was very generous, though that was expected from the Figaroan King. This new farm job was possibly a token of his gratitude for telling my story the night before.

"Lunch?" I asked, feeling hungry.

"Sure", Terra responded, obviously having just worked up an appetite.

"I'll join you." Relm jutted in. "It'll be a while before my study sessions begin."

We ate companionably. After the meal, Relm took off for her studies. "Well I'm stuffed," Terra said as we walked back outside. "I'm curious to see what Edgar's up to with his investigation, so I'll head to the castle."

"I'll head to the farm and see the work he's got for me. He sure plans ahead. I understand why he's King." I waved down a carriage and we boarded.

As we rode, Terra asked me a question that I should've expected. "Leonard, did you ever see the frozen esper that was uncovered in Narshe's mines?"

"No. Didn't want to." I gave a partial answer that satisfied her. There was more to the story. But I didn't elaborate.

She asked another question. "Were you in Narshe for the first or second Imperial attack?"

"No," I said again. "I was in South Figaro during the first attack. I learned about it later. As for the second attack, I was elsewhere."

"Where?" She asked another question, one I expected.

"Somewhere," I answered, looking out the window. Why was she asking these questions? She'd already learned of a shitty aspect from my past, when neither of us expected it. I didn't want to voluntarily discuss another one. I wasn't deliberately a private person. I was just very selective with whom I discussed these matters. I'd done it with Sarge, Mog, and his kin, but that was years back. Since then, I hadn't discussed my history with anyone.

I was getting an idea of why she popped these questions, so I asked one of my own. "Did you repel the Empire in those two attacks?"

"The second one, yes. The first one…" She trailed off.

"Figaro Castle." The carriage driver's voice came from up front, telling us we'd arrived at Terra's destination.

"Oh." Terra was surprised. "Looks like we're here. I guess I'll be going now. Catcha' later." She smiled and stepped outside. I waved as the carriage started forward again.

As a Returner, it made sense that Terra would've halted Imperial attacks in Narshe, but why only in the second strike? Where had she been during the first? My guess was that she hadn't met the Returners until afterward.

Maybe she was trying to share something, stuff about her own past. She knew something about me, that I was rather infamous to certain individuals in the city, all for things I'd never done. Maybe that triggered something and she felt obliged to share snippets of herself. Maybe there was some deep emotional meaning to her asking those questions.

But maybe there wasn't. She was a Returner. She saved the world, and had earned recognition aplenty for it. Newspapers from many corners of the world had certainly written about those who'd secured its future. Everyone knew about the scattered band of heroes and heroines who defied oppression and survived extermination, even those like me who'd grown skeptical of the press. Her questions about the frozen esper and the Imperial attacks could've arisen from nothing but typical curiosity. Any Narshean would've been asked the same questions. She was a world heroine. That was undoubtedly an experience few others could match.

In contrast, I was just a large town nobody, reclusive for the most part and generally distrustful of my own species. I more often preferred the company of short, white-furred, cave-dwelling creatures who, until recently, had a language that consisted of one word with several thousand variations. True, they were a tad clumsy and inarticulate, but at least their judgments of a person were based on that person, not his or her affiliates.

The bottom line was that Terra and I were of two highly different positions in life. We were friends, yes, but I was sure we'd be no more than that. After what she'd accomplished, what could I give her that she hadn't already experienced?

Did I….was I feeling some….No, I wasn't, and neither would she. Even though Terra had saved my life, it wasn't the first time she'd done that for someone. The 'heroine's calling', though certainly a feat to be very proud of, couldn't be enthralling enough to spark a romance in the rescuer for the rescued. The prospect seemed unlikely.

"Next stop, last stop. Figaro Farms." The carriage driver's voice sounded again, this time announcing the last stop on his route before he turned around. I paid him and departed his company.

Situated not far from the capital's southern coast, Figaro Farms was a modest collection of silos, windmills, fenced-in yards, and small buildings. I walked past a fence and entered the first structure I came across, a large factory-style building. It would've reminded me of the Shedairah base exterior, had this farm building lacked windows. A chubby old man sat in the first large room. I told him my name and that the King sent me to do some work. He led me to another large chamber with some livestock and revealed my new tasks.

Equipment maintenance and shoveling cow shit.

_change in s & n_

Edgar wasn't in the castle, but that was hardly unexpected. Castle personnel said I could find him in a military command center a short distance to the west, so I went there.

After crossing a few hallways, I found him in a room with some inert guards. He stood over some type of console. It looked like one of his radio banks, but when I got closer I could see it was more complicated than a simple radio.

"Hey Terra." Edgar smiled at me while adjusting some levers on the control panel.

I looked at the console. There was a glass panel with an image displayed on it. The picture was tinted green, and its contents were animate. "What's this latest thingamajiggy you've got here?"

"The perfect tool for the trade." Edgar spun a dial beneath the glass panel and made it contents less blurry. The moving objects inside looked like rock formations. "Do you recall those old Imperial automatons that we encountered in Vector and Kefka's tower? The smaller ones were called Trappers while the larger ones were Chasers."

I nodded.

"Just before Kefka screwed with the statues, Arvis and some Narsheans had scoured the Imperial palace and found some old neglected recon bots in storage. Resourceful, Arvis had the troops grab what they could and load it onto their transport ship, along with operation consoles like this one." Edgar tapped the side of the control bank. "While he was sailing back up here, the collapse happened. He was out at sea and survived because of that. Because Banon and the elder were still in Vector at that time, they weren't so lucky. Arvis and his crew eventually reached South Figaro, but with Narshe overrun by monsters and my castle lost under the crumbled mountains, he could only store the Imperial equipment in a city warehouse with some abandoned magitek units."

"And it just sat there until Kefka's death?"

"Right. Once he was gone, Arvis informed me about his stash. I brought it all here to see if we could repair it. Sure enough, we did that and a lot more. My techs began to replicate and build their own models." Edgar looked down at a button cluster. I remembered the day before when I'd been looking for him. One of the techs in the castle's machine shop had been wiring a sphere with a tube sticking out. That could've been one of those Trapper bots.

I asked, "How are they helping in your investigation?"

"When one is activated and sent out, you can control it from afar, like so." Edgar looked at me, then at the levers. "What it sees in front of its lens is then sent back to the viewing monitor right there, where the controller, a.k.a. me, can look at it. Since Leonard spoke of some strange new monster in his inquiry, I sent a Chaser droid out to explore some local cavernous regions. They may find a giant moth or some new species like it within the underground areas. The one I'm controlling right now is in a cavern that leads to the ancient castle, to the west."

When the planet had partly re-stitched itself by thrusting fallen mountains above the ocean where they belonged, some things had changed. The regeneration wasn't a complete restoration of the pre-collapse world. "During the inquiry, I wondered if the topographical revitalization had stirred up some under-dwelling creatures and brought them closer to the surface. You considered that prospect as well."

"Indeed." Edgar nodded. "If there's a new species out there that hates people, we damn well better find it. I think it's odd they'd appear in Shedairah after all this time. Shedairah opened that mining facility shortly after Narshe was repopulated, about six weeks after Kefka's death. I'd think a new species would've shown up back then, but the possibility is still worth exploring."

Edgar's mention of Narshe made me wonder how the town reacted after learning of Shediarah's fate. "How did it go last night at the press conference where you disclosed the massacre?"

Edgar watched the monitor. "The locals are no longer threatening to riot since they have an answer, but that answer upset them greatly. The shock and grief has set in though. Many are aware they've lost family and friends in the attack. No one can believe such a thing happened to a place like Shedairah, where its people were as top-of-the-line as its technology, but they're not questioning the cover story."

"If you don't mind my asking, why did you tell them that it was a monster attack with no survivors? Why tell the press things that are unproven or entirely false?"

Edgar pressed a few buttons on the control panel. "The story of a monster attack isn't really a lie. From what Leonard told us about the giant moth and its poison, a monster attack is at least _part_ of what took place. We've ascertained nothing else. As to the no-survivors part, it's to ensure that Leonard doesn't get any unwanted attention. It was my idea and he approved of it before the questioning started."

"Oh," I said, fitting all the pieces together. It made sense. No point in giving a man unwelcome attention. Leonard had already gotten some that morning.

Footsteps came up from behind us. We both turned. "My liege, and Lady Terra." Cyan bowed to us. "Where is the young man from last night? With all he knows of this incident, t'is odd that he's not contributing to our efforts."

"You mean Leonard?" Edgar acknowledged. "He's working at the farm where I found an opening for him. Other than that, he's most likely out doing what he pleases. He shared all he knows, and did his part."

Cyan nodded. "I understand that with all due respect Sire. But I also see his non-participation as most strange. You'd think that after his experience, he'd be eager to lend his abilities to our cause. What we're doing concerns him, to a great extent."

Just then, a yellow light flashed and beeped on Edgar's control cluster. He pressed a button and spoke into a wire mesh square. "Yes?"

"Kades is here. We're standin' by and awaitin' directives sir," came a voice accompanied by a slight static rush in the background. It sounded like Rodney, Leonard's good friend and Edgar's Staff Sergeant. I'd only heard him speak a few times, but he had a distinct accent, recognizable even amidst the fuzz. So this console bank was a radio, in part.

"The scouting droid saw nothing of interest, at least until the signal faded. Move in and retrieve it. Check with your own eyes for any anomalies," Edgar said into the speaker mic.

"Yessir. Will do, sir. Over," Rodney's voice sounded again before the fuzzy noise clicked off.

Edgar turned to Cyan. "General, Vonius's company is heading into the cave. Hayne will report back any activity or observations worth mentioning."

"Understood." Cyan took a seat.

Edgar looked back at me. "Feel free to hang around, but do realize we won't be much company. We need to monitor the troops' advances on the scouting mission."

"It's all good." I smiled and left the room, leaving Edgar and Cyan to their overseeing duties.

Though the next few days were quite eventful, they passed without any developments in the Shedairah killings. I bumped into Locke and Cyan talking conversing a few times. The Figaroan railway engineers finally connected the dual train routes that ran to Narshe and Kohlingen. It was now possible to ride a train out of Narshe, through the capital, over the Hyaxulan Mountains, through the Lucaissa Plains, and arrive in Kohlingen. Narshe had organized a vigil in its uptown region, in memory of the people who died at Shedairah. The tension and worry of the townsfolk had vanished, replaced with mourning and bereavement.

The grievances did nothing to lower security. The local militia forces, with the aid of moogles, remained on high alert. Edgar organized additional scouting missions in Figaro Cave and the remains of Mount Koltz, to check all underground locations for any new monster breeds, leaving no stone unturned.

Yet nothing came from these efforts. This new species of monster was an elusive one. On the day when Setzer was showing the Falcon to Leonard, Edgar called off the next recon search, just for a break in the efforts. Relm was learning to cook a new dish from the castle's kitchen staff, so Edgar called for a Returners' banquet dinner in the castle's private quarters.

_change in s & n_

"Try your luck at these some time." Setzer Gabbiani gestured around him at the various gambling facilities in the second level of his luxurious airship, the Falcon. I'd just finished my day's work, when a tall man with long silver hair approached me at the train stop. He introduced himself and invited me on a personal tour of his one-of-a-kind airship.

Unlike the other Returners, Setzer was talkative, annoyingly so. The gambling chatterbox just wouldn't shut up. His voice soon became ambient background noise, and I'd forgotten that he was talking until he said my name, to ask if I was paying attention. Talks of 'racing airships—yak—yak—yak' and 'games of chance—blah—blah—blah' were giving me a headache.

"Nah, I'll pass." Until recently, good luck had never been one of my prevalent assets. I wasn't about to push what little I had.

Setzer looked crestfallen, but wiped away the sad face. "No problem. If you dig machinery, take a look below." He led me to the engine room. "The first time Cyan saw this area, he almost fainted. It was hilarious." Setzer laughed at the memory.

"Cyan?" Sabin mentioned that name once before.

Setzer regained himself. "Cyan Garamonde. The Doma Knight of our group, Retainer to their King until the Empire poisoned their drinking water supply. All the castle's occupants, including his wife and son, perished. He now serves Edgar as a military General."

I felt my mouth curve downwards at the mention of 'Doma'. It made sense that a Doman would be intimidated of contemporary mechanics.

But a Doman serving Figaro? And as a _General?_

During his time in the military, my grandfather had traveled to various nations of the north, Doma being one of them, and had filled me in with stories of his travels. He never understood their refusal to use modern machines, save for last ditch situations. This only happened once, when they set up their own railroad system through a nearby forest after foot travel became too slow and costly. Even then, few Domans favored use of machinery within their culture. While they claimed it was to honor their ancestry, Grandpa saw it as way to make life frustratingly difficult, sometimes impossible, for no reason at all. It was all pain and no gain.

And now a technophobe was serving Sayitheren's most technologically-advanced nation as a senior military official. The only explanation was friendship. Under any different circumstances, that would never happen.

"Nothing more to see here, so right this way." Setzer guided me to the last section this tour, a small room with a desk, a radio bank, a bed, a bathroom stall, and a small fridge. A calendar and map hung from the wall over the desk.

There came a beeping sound. Setzer walked over to the radio bank, put some small mic in his ear and spoke into a wire screen. "Yes? I'm showing Leonard my wings. Okay. Will do. I'll head back immediately." He switched off the radio. "Edgar's calling a Returner banquet, and you're invited if you feel up to it. The main course is another of Relm's recipes."

I felt my mouth salivate. "Sounds good." Any reason to free myself from Setzer's relentless voice was good too.

Setzer docked at the landing pad and we headed for Edgar's castle. The dinner was in a private dining room.

This dimly-lit, windowless room was the size of a living room in a typical house. A large map, displaying a third version of our world Sayitheren, hung on the wall. The revitalized world had four major landmasses; the northern continent, the southern continent, Crescent Island, and a small island in the northeast, nicknamed 'Triangle Island.'

Of course, I wasn't surprised to see no mention of a certain place on this map. Only its own people, who were secretive by nature, knew of its exact shape, size, and location. As it was, only a handful of outsiders, including myself, even knew it existed. I often wondered about lifestyles there. Its seclusion from the outside world didn't necessarily halt progress within.

A large table covered with an orange tablecloth was placed in the center of the room, and ten place settings were laid out on top. Setzer took a chair on the side with Relm, Sabin, and Gau. I took a seat across from them, next to my green-haired heroine, on the side with her, Celes, and Locke. At the end of the table were two chairs. One was empty, which I figured was reserved for Edgar. In the other chair sat an older man with olive skin, dark eyes, black hair tied back in a queue, and a long mustache. He eyed me as I sat down, then turned back to Locke, engaged in conversation. Locke called him Cyan, and I realized he was the Doman who Sabin and Setzer had mentioned.

Relm got up and walked through the doorway behind Cyan. A few minutes later she came back pushing a dining cart with a large covered platter and an equally huge pitcher of what looked like Arrowny's finest lemonade. As she poured us drinks, Edgar walked in and took a seat. Once everyone had their lemonade, Relm placed the platter next to the table's centerpiece lamp and cleared her throat. "And now I shall treat you all to another of my masterpieces, from the kitchen and not the gallery. I hereby present you with," she removed the platter's cover, speaking like auctioneer announcing the next item for bids. The cover was lifted, showing a huge mass of steaming brown meat with smaller steaming bowls on the sides. "Roasted Narshean venison, with side dishes of steamed rice and salted cabbage."

Relm began cutting meat, placing slices on the plates, starting with Edgar, and then Cyan. When she gave Sabin a slice, he wasted no time in tearing into it and mumbling "scrumptious" between bites.

Edgar looked over at him and chuckled. "You can keep mind focused, but you still can't discipline your appetite." Sabin paid his brother no attention. Edgar simply cut into his venison and spoke to the rest of us. "Though my wife cannot be here due to a business guild meeting, she sends her regards. Of the thirteen Returners left, we've nine present, plus the new guy. Glad you could join us Leonard." I didn't argue with that moniker.

I recalled Relm saying her father went AWOL a lot, and deduced he was one of the absentees, with Mog and his yeti being two more. "Relm's dad, Mog, and the yeti. Who else is missing?" I asked.

"A unisex, robed chap known only as Gogo," Terra offered as she bit into a forkful of meat. "Expert at imitation but lacks any original personality. It disappeared from the Falcon's deck as we flew from Palazzo's stronghold. No one's seen it since."

I was getting full just from one serving. This was good, quite tender but flavorful, mores so than the dry MRE-style shit served in Shedairah's mess hall.

Thinking about my ex-workplace served as a reminder. "Edgar, did you find anything in your attempts to locate this unfriendly new species of mine?"

Edgar swallowed some lemonade. "Following your talk of a new monster species almost a week back, I sent scouting bots and armed military reconnaissance teams to all nearby cave regions. Despite these thorough searches, we found nothing of interest." He took another drink. "Are you sure it was a gigantic moth and not just another Figaroan hornet?"

"Yes, I'm absolutely positive. I killed the thing and got a good look at its body."

"You believe it was monsters?" Locke gave me an incredulous look as he bit into a meat slice.

"I saw too much evidence to suggest otherwise," I insisted.

Edgar scratched his chin. "Well it's not the Empire. That much is glaringly obvious. After the great collapse, barely anything remained of Gestahl's legacy. Many Imperial survivors joined Palazzo, and those who didn't were picked off by his minions. Nowadays, the southern continent's in a state of near-lawlessness. There's no Empire to keep a rule of law. We can also rule out the old Cult of Kefka. They were rendered helpless without magic, and disbanded shortly after his death." Having eliminated outlandish scenarios, the King addressed the going theory. "A monster attack requires no actual motive, but the idea of beastly creatures taking out the most technologically-advanced mining and military complex in a single strike just feels implausible. Even if they have capabilities to bypass Shedairah's security, they surely lack the intelligence."

"If this attack involved monsters, it could've happened like this," theorized Relm. "Someone or some group set the monsters loose to distract and kill some guards, while people took out the base's power and the like. Humans set it up and let monsters do the dirty work." Relm tried supporting my story.

Edgar forced a smile. "You're creative, I'll give you that, but your artistic imagination is reaching there. Pet monsters? Do you realize how absurd that sounds? No offense, but that 'trained monsters' idea just doesn't sit with logic." Edgar looked at Gau. "You'd know more than any of us that feral creatures can't be tamed. Even zoos, circuses, and labor guilds are highly selective with their beasts of burden."

"Yeah," Gau answered.

Relm folded her arms defensively. "Or maybe, monsters are getting smarter, evolving into new breeds with higher intelligence levels than the average creature. Or maybe people themselves are somehow morphing into these new creatures. That would explain their high intelligence."

Edgar almost chuckled. "Are you joking? That idea sounds even less likely than your pet monster theory. How could such event happen without magic? We can all agree that magic is dead. Old relics that had magical properties are now just decorations." Everyone, even Relm, agreed with him, except for me. I claimed magical ignorance. Still, I didn't believe in the pet monsters or humans-become-monsters ideas. Even my own warped imagination had limits.

"I have a theory. Or at least, I _had_ one." Locke suggested something as he polished off his venison. "It's certainly more reasonable than a monster attack." He eyed me with a challenging look.

"Anything's worthy of mention," Edgar acknowledged him. "Let's hear it."

Locke took a deep breath. "You aided Albrook when they requested your help over a month back, shipping them supplies of you best combat tools and armaments to help quell some local militarized gangs. That might've pissed off those gangs enough to retaliate. Since they're an enigma, we don't know what's at their disposal. Plus the attack on Jidoor's outpost in Foraziale came about supposedly from Jidoor's establishing a military presence in Maranda."

"Yes, I provided Albrook with goods that were crafted from Shedairah-mined materials. That provides the gangs a motive to strike Shedairah. It's no secret that we were trading partners." The young King looked down at the table, then up again. "But that's still a far-fetched possibility. The Foraziale outpost was near the fighting. The gangs were already close. Regardless of what happened down there, a bunch of militants coming up here to Figaro in the midst of their conflict down south is unlikely on its own. Odds are even more improbable with the monster evidence."

"Oh, so that's why all the mining crews were doing O.T. back than. I'd heard about it but never found out why. I must've already been cleaning bathrooms when that request came in." I spoke up.

"Why were you sent off to do that anyway?" Terra asked.

"There was an altercation a few days prior," I started. "I was down in the mining tunnels when Quentir Braslino, a long-time nemesis of mine, came up. He was a compulsive brown-noser to Major Blockhead, so much that he'd eventually been given a promotion that he didn't deserve. He became Major Blockhead's hand-picked supervisor of the mining operations, despite lacking the qualifications."

"Major Blockhead?" Sabin questioned as he stifled a laugh, amused by my nickname.

"It's my personal slur for the guy who commanded the base, Major Bozwensc. I called him Major Blockhead, as he was a stupid asshole with a squared face."

Sabin continued laughing. Relm let loose a few chuckles. I saw Terra smiling, and thought I saw Celes flash a grin as well. Edgar just nodded silently.

I went on. "But back to the story, Quentir came up and began cracking some sexual jokes about getting me off and stuff like that. Soon afterwards he started rubbing my chest. I think he was trying for a nipple grab, but I never gave him the chance. I grabbed his hand, bent back his fingers, and decked him in the face. He went down, and before he could get up I kicked him in the stomach and slammed a chunk of pipe into his gut. I had to defend myself. No one else, certainly not the Major, would take action against him. If you were in my shoes, you've have done the same thing."

"Damn right," Celes spoke up. "If a guy tried grabbing my chest, I rip his spine out and make it into a necklace. That kind of act is usually followed by something more sinister."

Edgar nodded. He must've known Quentir like he knew the Major, and didn't like him any better. "I'm surprised you weren't fired for that, knowing how the Major was."

"I almost expected that. But the Major never liked me, so sending an experienced mining tech to do a grunt's work was the insult of choice to my intelligence. Oh well. No point in dwelling on those who can no longer piss me off. Both those dicks are gone. I do hope the fatal wound in Quentir's chest was the last one he received."

I looked down the table and noticed that Cyan was exchanging a whisper with Locke, who eyed me before nodding. Maybe they were voicing their own opinions on people like the Major and Quentir, choosing to be more discreet.

"On the subject of Albrook," Locke asked "how are they faring without that second requested shipment?

Edgar faced the self-made treasure hunter. "I contacted the House via radio on the day of the inquiry, to say that we had problems of our own and couldn't fulfill another supply request. I only got a vague response; Albrook has withdrawn from their conflict with Tzen and Maranda to solely focus their military efforts on the armed gangs. The aggression and violence of these fringe groups has escalated. Albrook hasn't contacted me since." He paused. "This was no spontaneous assault. No one decided on the spur of some random moment to attack the complex. This required preparations. Someone had to scour about the base and note its vital utility points."

We'd all finished our helpings. Some kitchen staff entered with carts like the one Relm used and loaded up the dirty plates, glasses, and silverware. They left once the table was cleared. A frustrated looked formed on Edgar's face as he looked at a calendar off to the side. "And why is it so quiet now."

"Quiet?" Sabin asked.

"Yes. In a short amount of time, Shedairah was neutralized. But there's been nothing to follow it up. Why go to such lengths to neutralize a top notch installation, but do nothing afterwards? In the week between the alleged attack and Leonard's revealing it, there was no abnormal activity in Narshe or the surrounding areas, and that was prior to increased defense patrols." Edgar looked at the table top, then at the ceiling. "If someone takes out Shedairah, it would be logical they'd attack Narshe right afterwards. Yet they had a perfect chance to strike again and did nothing. It's like a follow-up attack is not on their minds. I can't help but wonder if…."

"What?" Locke prodded.

"If the attack on Shedairah was nothing but a side note, a subplot in a greater scheme. What's to say it's impossible, no matter who did it? No part of this makes any sense whatsoever," Edgar finished.

Everyone got up from their chairs. We were going in circles. Edgar was right about his lack of findings. If the world saviors couldn't answer these pressing questions, certainly an everyman like me couldn't. I looked at the doorway. "Well, I've done my part here. I can't really say anything that hasn't already come up. As I'm no Returner, I will take my leave."

Edgar waved good-bye, as did Sabin, Relm, Celes, and Terra. Gau just nodded his head as Locke and Cyan began their hushed conversation again. "See you around at the farm or train station, or someplace like that," Terra said.

As I reached for the doorknob, I head Locke's stern voice behind me. "Wait." Surprised by his commanding tone, I turned around. "Before you go Leonard, I have one last theory to address." He looked at Cyan. "I'll let you do the honors of explaining it since you brought it up to me."

"Yes," Cyan said before looking at me with his dark eyes. "I couldn't understand why you didn't assist us in finding this new creature you mentioned." Cyan's voice was far from casual. The slow, deliberate way he spoke implied a greater purpose to his words. "But Sir Locke and I later began to see a distinct possibility, represented by your lack of interest in our efforts, and your ridiculous explanation about the attack." I didn't like his expression, staring through a squint as if he was trying to see inside me. I expected he didn't believe me at all. But there was more to his words than that. I couldn't put my finger on it.

Locke gave me a similar glare as Cyan kept talking. "This possibility has become even more solid, as I've heard you speak ill of your late authority figures." Cyan's voice was getting sharp now. Terra and Celes exchanged nervous looks. "You spoke with complete irreverence to your superiors, going so far as to celebrate their deaths. It is hardly unrealistic to conclude that you," he pointed a long finder at me, his face hardening even more "were responsible for this disaster."

Terra gasped loudly, staring at Cyan in disbelief.

"There's no giant moth, no monster attack, only a vindictive traitor hard at work," Locke accused. Celes scowled at him, but he ignored her, fixing his hostile glare on me. Sabin eyed the General, but looked more shocked than pissed. Edgar tried to remain objective.

I now realized why the two men were talking under their breath during the meal. They were sharing ideas about my being guilty of the Shedairah attack. They had just accused me of masterminding the very incident that almost claimed my life. Calling me mistaken was one thing. Even calling me a liar was manageable. But guilty? "What…did you just say?" I spoke loud, but my words came out slowly.

"I think you were behind in this," Cyan repeated himself without pausing.

"Yeah," Gau spoke up. "The possibility of insider involvement makes more sense than some crazy monster attack." Gau narrowed his eyes and sent a third menacing look in my direction. "We're the Returners. Do you think we're stupid enough to believe a story like yours?" That set Relm off. She began to quarrel with him.

"What proof do you have, huh? I almost died from poisoning by a creature there. Isn't that enough to say I _wasn't _involved?" I hoped this would remind them of what had been documented.

"That could've been an unforeseen trial that came from elsewhere, totally unrelated to the attack in question." Cyan once again refuted my claim. His and Locke's eyes burned with an aura of condemnation that was very familiar. My father wore such an expression before swinging his belt down upon my back and shoulders. Major Blockhead gave me that face on countless occasions. Various Narshean townspeople, like the woman from the train platform several days back, wore that face around me so often that I never saw them with a different expression. Gau, Cyan, and Locke's damning glares were nothing new, but it suddenly felt terrifying to receive such gazes.

And then I realized why. These men weren't mindless puppets of my father, nor were they tragic but spiteful victims of his cold, scheming nature. They were fucking _Returners_. They were heroes to the world. I believed such people would be more open, more tolerant, and see me for who I really was. I'd almost given up on meeting people who weren't hastily judgmental. Actually meeting Sayitheren's greatest seemed like a one-way pass out of the shit hole.

But now, seeing the eyes of Cyan Garamonde, Locke Cole, and Gau focused squarely upon me without wavering made me wonder if such optimistic hopes were mere wishful thinking. Once again, I was being slapped with the blame for something I hadn't done. Only this time, it was from people who should've been trustworthy.

The noise level was increasing. Celes was nearly screaming at Locke unnoticed while Relm, more than a foot shorter than Gau, looked like she'd grab his face and slam him through the wall. Sabin was trying to speak with Cyan, who had no interest in listening. Edgar tried in vain to quell the arguments that were steadily getting louder, too loud for the small room. Setzer just leaned against the wall, neutral as possible, while Terra leaned on the table, looking out of breath. It was time to leave. I turned around and threw open the door, almost hitting a guard outside in the face. I stormed out of Figaro Castle, away from my newest accusers.

_change in s & n_

Later that evening, I realized I had to speak with the Doma Knight.

I knew firsthand that Cyan could brutally judge people on a whim. His vicious accusation of Leonard at the dinner brought back painful memories of my first meeting with him in the Narshean Elder's house. When Cyan saw Celes enter behind Locke, he charged and drew his katana blade, threatening to execute her right on the spot. As Locke stepped between them, I tried quelling his anger by innocently saying I'd been forced to serve the Empire once before. He suddenly raised his blade at me. Sabin, who'd met me before he met Cyan and understood my enslavement, leapt across the room to my defense, tackling the knight to the ground and breaking a lamp table in the process. Celes was indifferent to Cyan's accusations, but I was deeply hurt by them. I would've broken down and cried had the Narshean sentry not burst through the door at that moment, announcing an Imperial platoon had just entered the city.

Eventually, Edgar's ways of consoling distraught people were rewarded. He'd learned some information during his fake alliance with the Empire, documented information that implied Celes's betrayal. When presented with this genuine evidence, Cyan began trusting Celes and me. Once we took down Kefka, Cyan even took it upon himself to teach Celes a few of the Doman sword arts.

I thought Cyan was above judging people so wrongly now.

I walked past Figaro Castle toward a mansion-like building to its west. It was the living quarters for all the government figures who served Edgar directly. Being a familiar face, I was allowed passage inside. After climbing some stairways to the fourth floor and walking past a few doorways, I came to the room of interest. The door was ajar, but I knocked anyway.

"Come in." I heard Cyan's voice and entered the room of his personal residence. He was at a work table cleaning his Sky Render blade, the white and red flag of Doma nailed on the wall at his right. I took a seat on a chair to his left.

"Cyan," I paused, looking for the right words and tone "I need to talk with you about earlier today."

"Lady Terra, I presume it's on my opinions of this man you call a newfound friend. I expected as much." He put his sword down and gave me his attention.

"You once accused Celes and me, just like you accused Leonard this evening. Remember out first introduction?"

Cyan nodded. "T'was a thoughtless mistake, yes, but you two fought alongside me to right the wrongs of the Empire and Kefka. You proved yourselves worthy in my eyes. What are you trying to say?"

"If you could see the good in us, surely you can try seeing the good in Leonard. There's no reason to accuse him of the bloodbath without proof."

He raised his eyebrows, exposing the deep wrinkles across his forehead. "True he may have his skills and talents, but a person's assets don't always reflect the intentions in their soul. Even fiends have their strong points. Conversely, you shouldn't be so quick to believe his every word. We've no proof of his story. A new monster may exist, but that doesn't mean such creatures attacked the complex."

I tried playing off that response. "What reason do you have to accuse him so hastily?"

Cyan wiped the blade clean until it reflected light from the table lantern. "T'was anything but hasty. I was first puzzled and disappointed in his refusal to join our investigation teams. But when I saw it from a different angle, I wondered if he was involved, and Sir Locke agreed it was possible. At the dinner today, Leonard not only spoke ill of his superiors, he rejoiced at their violent passing. Speaking ill of the dead is not simply a moral offense. T'is a sign of a murderer's guilt." He spoke fluidly, without hesitation.

I tried to speak but could not. Cyan placed a hand on my shoulder. "I don't mean to upset ye, Lady Terra. I respect your attempts too see the good in most people, but too much trust is just plain naïve. If ye thinks my judgment is out-dated, hear what Sir Locke has to say."

I sighed. I knew that Locke's judgment was often heavily flawed. His protective nature had often become intrusive. Did he still see me as a lost and frightened amnesiac who was deathly afraid of her own natural powers?

_change in s & n_

This was inevitable. Those who place knee-jerk accusations upon others can't leave well enough alone, even after making their point.

Time for solipsism again. No sooner had I thought of my treasure hunting accuser did I heard his voice. "So how are you doing? Enjoying time to yourself? That's good, since that's the only person you give a shit about!"

He gave me the same look as the day before, after the banquet. I addressed his hostility. "What the hell's your problem?"

The outburst was expected. "It's you, asshole! You're not helping. You just survive this supposed attack, tell us about it, then leave us to deal with it? Don't you care at all?"

This would've been laughable, had it not been so aggravating. Was the self-acclaimed and self-righteous treasure hunter compensating for some internal flaw by throwing me this moralistic lecture? "No, I don't. The guards in Narshe don't need me doing their jobs."

Locke retorted with another non-cooperation response. "An innocent man would help out," he snarled.

He was testing me, I just knew. "What do you have on me? I already told you the story. You saw me chase down Edgar in the chocobo stable, and the poison from the moth is in lab storage. Explain how that signifies guilt." I would now test him.

"Like this; The poisoning happened after you left the base, regardless of what attacked you. When you awoke days later, you wanted to ensure that Edgar didn't send anyone to check up on the place, so you waited in the chocobo stable to catch any potential messenger. When you realized that Edgar himself was traveling there, you rushed off to stop him so that he wouldn't see that results of the attack, see something that would incriminate you. You wanted everyone to learn of Shedairah from your own words before anyone else went there and reported findings. You then cooked up this crock of shit about a monster attack from a superior species to distract everyone from your involvement. I know an accomplished liar when I hear one."

So he'd already formulated a theory. Honestly I wasn't surprised. He and Cyan must have brainstormed ways to undermine my credibility. "You don't need my help in your scouting efforts. Edgar's people are more qualified for that line of work. I'm just a plebe."

Locke frowned in disapproval. "You're just a backstabber, killing your own people."

I shrugged. "Well I can't compare with you. You saved the world. We can't all accomplish such a daring feat." If this kept up we'd be going in circles. I chose a different strategy. "You'd best be careful with those charges. It's not wise to accuse a man of such a massive crime without solid proof."

That got him. He couldn't use any convenient goody-two-shoes retorts. But he wasn't backing down either. "When we do find proof, your ass will be nailed to the fuckin' wall, you hear me?"

"Loud and clear." I was getting pissed. Fortunately, circumstance was in my favor. "Break time's up. I'm going back to work," I began walking to the farm "in a place where only workers are allowed." I stressed that last part. He didn't follow me.

"You stay away from Terra, you got that you bastard?" He called after me.

I turned back and stated the obvious, keeping my disgust hidden. "I thought Celes was your woman. Are you a cheating cad now?" I laughed at my own remark and kept on walking. As long as I kept my temper in check, he could have the last word.

_change in s _

"What? No way! You've got to be kidding!" I exclaimed. But I could clearly see that Edgar was being sincere.

A couple days after I'd been condemned unjustly once more, a castle messenger dropped by the farm, saying Edgar had something to ask me. Upon completing my shift, I went to the castle to find out what it was. It was a favor, and I wasn't too eager to comply with it.

"I understand your reluctance to go back there since you almost died trying to escape, but our previous attempts to gather intel have failed. A bot scan of the surrounding area turned up nothing. We need to go directly to the source of the incident, in person."

"I see that. But why do you need me?"

"Because no one but you knows the place. You're familiar with the complex's layout, the only one who knows what's where and the like."

I looked at the floor, then at Terra, then Celes. They both silently nodded. I looked back at the King. "You traded goods and machinery with them for three years and even dealt with their ass of a C.O in person, but you don't know the floor plan?"

Edgar shook his head. "I didn't stay around long. Major Blockhead wasn't much of a docent. I know Staff Sergeant Hayne worked there at one point, but he's out on a training mission with some grunts. That's why I asked you." Edgar's reply was quite expected, but hardly uplifting.

Celes tried reasoning with me. "If we don't look there for ourselves, we'll never find out anything. Why should a team go without someone who knows the base when they can bring him along?"

Terra spoke up next. "Don't worry," she tried to sound encouraging "You'll be with a team of the Figaro's best, and besides, aren't you at least moderately curious about what happened?"

I tried to smile. "Well, you've got me there. _You_ just perked my curiosity."

"And if you accompany a search team, that should be enough to get Locke and Cyan off your back," Celes offered. "I assume Locke's already given you a piece of his mind, despite my orders not to."

That cheered me up. I liked the idea of Old Man Mustache and Little Whiny Treasure Bandit recanting their accusations. I faced the King. "Okay. You win. I just hope to get some top-of-the-line-gear before we go inside."

"I'll see to that," Edgar promised. "Don't forget, this is Figaro."

"Look on the bright side," said Terra. "At least you won't have to deal with Major Blockhead this time."

I returned her grin with half-enthusiasm.


	9. Shattered Perceptions

**Chapter 9: Shattered Perceptions**

"It's _almost_ like old times," I mused. We were going up against the unknown, different than anything we'd previously faced with the Imperials or Kefka. We had to prepare for anything.

I fastened a supply pack to the side of my belt. It was of quintessential importance that we supply ourselves with general remedies, medications, and other first aid supplies. Even if the Mantra blitz worked well to heal injuries and ailments, it worked best when combined with traditional medicine. If we ran into any of Leonard's poison moths, I packed some antidotes. Cid's research of the poison offered vital data. It could be cured easily with standard antidotes, but only if they were administered quickly enough. The poison spread much faster than typical toxins.

After pulling on my red boots and tying my ponytail, I pulled a sheathed falchion sword from my closet stockpile. Seeking the appropriate armor, I found something solid but not heavy, the Minerva Mail. Upon Kefka's death, I kept my old armaments, 'just in case'.

I left my house and made for the train station. Our team's rendezvous point was at the northeastern edge of Figaro. During the ride, I thought about this new menace, and the lack of magic. It was natural to see the Returners without magic as not being the Returners. Granted, we'd made extensive use of such power against those who exploited it. It was the key to our victory, and for some of us, our specialty. Without it, the Empire and Kefka would've mopped the floor with us single handedly. Now we had no magic whatsoever.

Of course, the loss of magic was an equal turnabout. This new threat lacked magic as well. But it was powerful, with some…_other_ ability at its disposal. What were the Returners without magic power?

Quite a bit, I realized. Most of us weren't spell casters by trade, and since magic's extinction, we'd honed our other skills. Cyan and Sabin were easily our most aggressive non-magical fighters, and Gau had learned quite a bit from them. That made him a fighter to be reckoned with, combined with survivalist skills learned from his years on the veldt. Edgar was also skilled in combat, and could utilize battle tools as proficiently as he could craft them. Setzer and Locke, though not trained in any official combat style, were still good at fighting, with melee and ranged weaponry.

Even us magic warriors had developed new talents. Relm was now skilled in ninja arts that she learned from just watching her father, Celes had learned some extra sword techniques from Cyan, and I had blitzes under my belt, thanks to Sabin's teaching. Even without magic, we were all still very competent, with more than a few tricks up our sleeves.

And Leonard was no different. I had no reason to worry about him. He'd been through conflicts and ordeals of his own and survived. That bitch at the train station was likely trivial compared to his escape from the fallen Shedairah complex.

I departed the train when it stopped at the northeastern district. This area was Figaro's agricultural center, with fields and crops providing most of the scenery. The meeting point was near a chocobo ranch. The Falcon couldn't bring us to Shedairah. The base's surroundings were heavily wooded and left no openings large or flat enough to land.

The team was assembling. It consisted of five biology and monster specialists personally selected by Cid to gather any data that suggested new monster breeds. Additionally, military support would come along.

I recognized the mission leader, and we exchanged smiles. Captain Vonius Kades was among Cyan's most trusted officers, and a close friend of the Returners. He'd often led escorts for Edgar and Charise when they traveled, and commanded many of the recon missions from the previous week. He served Cyan faithfully, another reason why I joined this team. My gut said he and his troops believed Cyan's theory about Leonard's involvement. I didn't want Leonard to feel surrounded by doubters. As the Captain addressed a group of soldiers, Locke walked up and acknowledged me.

"Umm…why is one of Cyan's best Captains leading a mission to seek out new monsters?" I asked him. "Last I knew, Cyan didn't believe Leonard's story."

Locke shook his head. "He still doesn't, but Edgar has ordered this. That aside, why are you here?"

"If Leonard's going, why shouldn't I? He nearly died from that moth creature, so I want to see it for myself. Why are you coming?"

Locke stared at the dirt before looking at me. "Since the troops and science dweebs have jobs of their own, someone needs to keep an eye on your favorite suspicious character. Cyan personally asked me to be his eyes and ears while on this mission."

I said nothing. Locke and I mutually understood our disagreement regarding Leonard's honesty. I just used the here-and-now approach to avoid a quarrel. "Speaking of which, where is Leonard?"

Locke glanced toward the capital. "He's on his way. He's getting some equipment of his own, so he and Sabin should be here any minute with the rest of the squadrons."

_change in s & n_

Who would've imagined it? For all the Returner has accomplished, they were still not omnipotent. Edgar's new scanning bots had lost their signal in the mountains, as the fallen base was too elevated for clear feedback. Visual displays went fuzzy after a short period. To navigate around, they'd need a knowledgeable docent.

It was their lucky day.

Sabin accompanied me as I rode the train through Figaro with troops and supplies. He only carried some hard stone knuckles that slid over his hands, but it made little difference. He could do more damage bare-handed than most others could while armed to the teeth. If we came face-to-face with whatever had caused the Shedairah massacre, his blitz expertise would prove invaluable.

Though I've not been much a teamwork person, I wasn't alongside clowns or amateurs. I was alongside experts, the best whom Sayitheren had to offer. It'd be impossible to find any better companions for my return to the house of unexplained gore. To sum it up, I had the best possible partners for the worst possible outing.

Sabin offered more words. "I've enhanced the blitz art over the past three years. Magic loss means little if anything to me. Just navigate for us and we'll handle the rest."

Maybe he was joking, or trying to motivate me. "What?" I asked. "I nearly died in that fucking place and now you're telling me to sit back and recline? This is more personal for me than it is for you."

"That's the spirit." He smiled and gave me a hard pat on the back.

I felt even more ambitious when considering the equipment I'd received at the castle. I had a leather vest as armor, but it was more than it appeared. Though its sleeves had been torn out some time ago, it was anything but fragile. The leather exterior covered up a solid lining of titanium chain mail underneath. It was light but sturdy, allowing for both movement and protection for an average sized fellow like me.

My weaponry was just as impressive. As usual, I had Grandpa's survival knife, but my main piece was a more advanced variation of my favorite rifle-axe. It was sturdier to allow more precise aiming, boasted a twelve-shot clip rather than an eight-shot, had a quicker firing rate thanks to its lever-action reload, and a titanium axe head which could slice and hack better than the older kind. I was also carrying a generous supply of ammo in my pockets.

The military unit was equally prepped for action. They carried a variety of weapons; crossbows, broad-axes, battle clubs, maces, pikes. A more ambitious weapon of their arsenal was a compact drilling-spear. Though only the length of a police baton, its standard point could be opened and slid back to reveal a drill bit underneath. It was powered by a small high-voltage battery in the handle.

But the drill-lance was only icing on the cake of their arsenal. The best piece of artillery was a lightning cannon derived from the old magitek Imperial weaponry. This type though, wasn't mounted to any armor unit. It was carried by hand and mounted on a tripod. They were bulky and could overheat in seconds if the firing trigger was held down for that long, but their bolts could instantly tear through even the most heavily-armored beasties of this planet. The squadron was hauling five of those gadgets, enough to kick ass and clean house if we found a nest of giant moths.

I was glad for Sabin's company. Despite his closeness to Cyan, he didn't always agree with the General's viewpoints. He didn't believe I carried out the massacre.

The military unit believed differently however. The commander of this mission was Captain Vonius Kades, one of Cyan's loyal dogs. Even in his absence, Cyan wanted me to feel his presence. At least the Lieutenant, the second-in-command, seemed less judgmental. He sat across from us in the carriage, fixing a battle hammer into his belt next to an auto-crossbow.

"Sabin," I asked, "How come you're joining us? You're not just tagging along to keep me company."

"Three reasons," he answered with a smile. "Since Terra insisted upon coming, I want to see how well she knows the blitzes. She may need some pointers. Also, as I'm a blitz master, I can lend a hand, or fist, should we make any hostile encounters. Finally, Edgar wants someone present to keep arguments at a low. Locke and Terra don't see eye-to-eye about you, so my brother asked me to act as conflict manager."

"I see." I looked out the window and cursed silently. Locke was coming along. I could see him being hand-picked by Cyan to spy on me.

"We're here." Sabin announced our arrival at the meeting point. The rest of the troops disembarked and unloaded the lightning cannons. I could see a man in gray fatigues and silver plate armor worn under a red cape. He had a mustache and a blonde flattop. I recognized him from the day I stopped Edgar's travel party. Captain Kades eyed me in a condescending manner. Cyan's distrust was certainly contagious amidst his senior staff. Terra waved to us from the crowd. Her friendly greeting was in full contrast to Locke's, who just stared disapprovingly.

Ranchers brought us our mounts. We climbed aboard our respective chocobos, and loaded supplies and artillery into some drawn carts. "Alright. Listen up," ordered Vonius. "Though we have plenty of ground to cover, only one of us knows the territory. We cannot split up. Leonard will be our navigator. As you all know, Narshe's mining and military outpost in the northern mountains was supposedly attacked and destroyed. Though surface evidence suggested a monster attack, various extenuating circumstances said otherwise." Vonius subtly rolled his eyes at me. "A team of Professor Marquez's lead biologists will join us in searching for this mysterious new species. Let's move out."

Vonius and I took the lead, as we both knew the way through the forest. We spurred our rides to action and began riding to the north, with the science team, soldiers, and the three Returners following close behind.

It felt weird. We rode along the exact same mountain trail where I'd chased down Edgar and his travel escort more than a week ago. After a while, I let my chocobo drop behind Vonius's so he could take point. As we approached the winding trail section and slowed for the turns, I saw Terra riding next to me, her mount's pace matching my own. She bore a neutral expression. "I do appreciate this Leonard. We all do," she began. "I just hope you don't feel coerced or anything like that."

"No," I said back. "I'm doing it for my own curiosity, and understand you need my knowledge of the base's layout. But I greatly resent the accusations of Cyan, Gau, and Locke." I looked around briefly and saw the aforementioned treasure hunter in the corner of my eye, likely considering more implications of my fabled guilt. "I nearly died in that attack, and they theorize that I was behind it? What a fucking nerve." I growled my objections in a muffled voice, as not to be overheard.

Terra leaned in close and whispered. "Leonard, I spoke with Cyan about that. Try to understand this; with no proof to corroborate your story, he's reluctant to believe you. He sees the poisoning as coincidence, unrelated to the attack. His accusation is merely stemming from skepticism of your story, and insistence on thoroughly considering all possibilities. I'm not saying he's right. I still believe you. I'm just letting you know that his judgment isn't personal, and does have reasoning."

She was trying to explain the motive behind Cyan's accusation. I wasn't expecting her to chew him out for his viewpoints. They'd been close friends for over four years now. Unfortunately, that was why Terra couldn't see a particular angle of the accusation. "He's accusing me because he's prejudiced. He's all about duty and servitude. I'm not. I'm everything that he and his culture oppose. Why should I tolerate his accusations any more than those of that bitch from the train platform, the one who insulted you for defending me? Having a world hero condemn me is like that is near unforgivable."

Terra blinked in surprised. "It's nothing to do with cultural or ethical differences. He's just being cautious. When he first met Celes, he accused her of being an Imperial spy. That accusation was based upon her widely publicized and factually accurate endeavors as an Imperial General. Only with time did he understand her true alignment." She took another deep breath. "Additionally, I was once enslaved by the Empire. I was never responsible for what I'd done, because I was under a mind control device. But when I first mentioned this to him, Cyan nonetheless saw me as an Imperial, and I was naturally hurt by that. But, he recanted his judgment later on. With time he'll trust you too."

We turned some corners and followed the windy path. To our right, the ground rose and gradually became more wooded. To the left, it sloped downwards to meet the side of a rushing stream. I'd learned something else about my fair-skinned, green-haired heroine, though it was still plenty vague. Why had the Empire enslaved her? What had she done unwillingly?

After scanning the scenery and ingesting Terra's words, I faced her again. "You had common ground and battled for a common cause, so of course he'd come to trust you both. Cyan and I have nothing in common. In his mind, I've murdered hundreds of my own people, committing a despicable crime of treachery. He won't like me for that. Neither will Locke. He even showed up at the farm to give me some holier-than-thou speech during my brake time. How is that not personal?"

Terra's eyes narrowed behind her fluttering bangs. She looked towards the rear of our travel party, no doubt looking for the treasure hunter with a juvenile's temperament. She turned her gaze downward to look at the ground quickly whizzing by under our mounts.

_change in n_

Leonard appeared distant. It felt best not to discuss inconclusive claims of his involvement. He'd be in charge of directing us once we got to the base, and for he'd need a clear mind.

I really wasn't surprised at his reaction to Cyan and Locke's accusation. After hearing that woman curse him in thoughtless rage for the deeds of his father, it was natural that even objective accusations born of caution would set him off.

Sabin and the Lieutenant were conversing, as were several troopers behind them. Locke was in the back of our group. Leonard mentioned that Locke was on his back, and it took little imagination to envision such. I pulled my mount back to ride next to Locke. He eyed me, sensing that I wanted to have a meaningful talk. "Locke," I whispered. I didn't want Leonard to overhear. "Have you been giving Leonard self-righteous moralizing speeches?"

Locke rolled his eyes. "Why shouldn't I? He's a selfish hedonist who cares only for himself. And if that's not enough, he's a deadly suspicious character. Cyan already made that clear."

"Well look in front of us. He's here, helping with our search. That's what you've been asking for, right? Is that not enough to convince you he's innocent?" I kept my voice low, but my whispering was sharp.

"Maybe," Locke sent a harsh glance toward Leonard "or maybe not. I just can't shake the idea that he's leading us into a trap he set up in advance before leaving the facility, just in case." My fists tightened upon hearing Locke's reply. He was going out of his way to distrust Leonard. "You'd do best to stay away from the bastard. He's nothing but trouble. Your lack of life experience blinds you to the many negatives within."

I could feel my blood seething. Not only had he just implied my being helpless and ignorant, he'd also unjustly scolded Leonard again. I narrowed my eyes. "What are you saying, that I'm a fucking ditz who can't rely on my own assessments?"

Locke frowned. "I'm saying that Leonard has lots to answer for. I can't decide which is more pathetic; his bullshit story of a monster attack that ignores the laws of elementary science, or his expectation that we'd believe such a tall tale."

My blood had cooled down but my impatience had not. "Well imagine how he feels, having experienced it for himself, and nearly getting killed after the fact. But he's sticking to his story, in spite of you, Gau, and Cyan mocking his credibility."

Locke shook his head. "Remember that I once delayed the Imperials in South Figaro. More than any of us, I know all about creating deception and confusion. I can see such talents in others, and Leonard's got 'schemer' written all over him."

"And what makes your judgment so absolute?" I asked.

"Cyan's in agreement with me. An experienced veteran understands my point of view. Don't be quick to downplay my judgment simply because it doesn't match your emotions. He mentioned that Leonard's hiding something. The way he reacted to our accusations was a dead giveaway. An innocent man would realize that at some point he'd be considered a suspect. In the usual criminal arrogance, Leonard never believed he'd be suspected."

Tones of red stained the peripheries of my vision. Of course there was a logical reason why Leonard reacted as he did. But I was cautious. I said nothing of the train station scene to Locke or Cyan. "Well if he didn't think he'd get pegged as a suspect, he wouldn't go as far as to lay traps in the place for insurance, would he?" Locke blinked, surprised that I negated one of his phrases with another.

I pulled my chocobo away from Locke before he could respond, and sulked as I rode in the middle of our group. This mission was uncertain as it was. If Locke and Leonard got into bouts of quarreling, its objective would not be met.

_change in s & n_

We travelled east through the mountain forests on foot, having left our rides at a checkpoint that Narshe established when defense was raised. Vonius explained that I was an ex-Shedairah miner whose knowledge was needed for the mission.

As we approached our destination, a large building loomed closer. Vonius took out a scope of sorts and looked through it before signaling us onward. We finally arrived. I turned and pointed over my shoulder. "Welcome to my world." I made little effort to hide my nervousness.

"We'll first circle the complex and do a sweep of the exterior." Vonius verbalized plans of action. "Maybe we'll learn something about this enemy's intrusion methods. Leonard, are you ready?"

"Yeah." I took one last breath to calm myself. "Looks deserted. There's no welcoming committee, not up here at least." Vonius gave me another condescending look. Had I saved Edgar from anything when I chased his party down? I led the squads to the hole in the fence which I'd used during my escape. We filed in and proceeded to the north side of the building.

Our first point of inspection was the water control room. Not surprisingly, the door was torn off and thrown astray. Inside, the valve was tightly set to a position that cut off all water flow throughout the complex. Of more interest was the missing valve handle. A few stubs of metal stuck out from the valve, heavily rusted. Someone or something had used a corrosive substance on the handle, making rust to the point of brittleness. The handle was broken, ensuring the sprinklers would stay off. Though not of a monstrous nature, the science team photographed the damage simply for practical measures.

In the exterior's northeast corner, the Lieutenant and I examined the power generator. Many of the wires had been slashed, or perhaps chewed on. More photos were snapped.

Vonius walked along the eastern edge of the perimeter, the only side that wasn't fenced off due to its overlooking the gorge. He observed the empty cable car supports, then the abandoned transit train on the other side, then the roof, where the remains of the radio reception antenna still sat. Sabin looked at it and scratched his head. "So they take out the antenna first, then snap the cable. After that, they breach the perimeter, destroy the generator, then shut of the water flow. But that still leaves the question; how'd all unfold without alerting so many people?" Edgar's brother was theorizing about the attack's first moments.

Terra joined Vonius along the edge of the chasm. I followed her and looked down. Its edges were rugged. If one fell, they'd get banged up pretty fierce as they tumbled down the steep, rocky slopes. "Leonard," Terra asked me "you said they might have attacked from both up here and down in the tunnels. Are there any tunnels connecting the mines to someplace down there?"

I stared down at the gorge's bottom. "I don't know the specifics. The fullness of the caverns had yet to be recorded, but I wouldn't be surprised to find such."

Vonius looked about. "We've nothing more to observe out here." He focused on the open roll-up door at the east entrance. "There's only one place to go. It's on you Leonard."

I couldn't say what I felt in that moment, something writhing in my stomach like a tapeworm.

"What do you expect we'll find in there?" Terra asked.

Locke voiced his bias instantly. "Damning evidence that'll send you on a fast trip before a firing squad." He sent me another cold scowl.

Why was he so damned conflict-seeking? I wasn't about to compete in his browbeating contest, so I just gave him a snappy answer. "Oh, I bet you'd get off upon seeing that. That is, if what's in your pants isn't too small to work properly."

"Guys!" Sabin barked as he stepped between us, ready to break up any physical altercation that would ensue, more likely due to Locke than me.

Vonius addressed us both. "We're on a mission."

"Yes, we are." I echoed his honesty, finishing the quarrel before Locke could add to it. "We're going in.

Terra and Vonius drew swords. The soldiers drew melee arms and crossbows, Locke drew some knives. The lieutenant with his auto-crossbow, and me with my rifle-axe took point, the rest of the group following.

The fires had died out, though plenty of burned areas that told of their once-raging presence. The stench of decay wasn't overwhelming, but it was pronounced enough to burn my nostrils. I forced down bile in my throat. At least the lights worked inside…if only a half-assed performance. I wasn't favoring the use of flash bulbs to see our way. Our presence wouldn't be very secret after that.

As we advanced through the complex, I took a paint stick from my pocket and marked the walls with arrows pointing in the direction we'd come from. "What's that for?" Terra asked.

"If something happens to me here, these are for you to navigate your way back outside." I intentionally kept the answer vague.

"What would happen to you?" Locke spat. "It's not like you face probable mortality. Making sacrifices goes against your nature."

I tried a non-defensive answer, just to see his reaction. "Sacrifices are for suckers." Vonius gave me another hard stare, as I'd just badmouthed something that dictated his lifestyle.

Locke was more outspoken. "How _dare _you say that. People have sacrificed their lives for what they believe in."

I shook my head. "Some of those things are not worth believing in, never mind dying for."

"Are you finished? You're navigating for us, so get on with it," Vonius growled.

"I am," I said, knowing Locke would soon be at my throat again.

Finally, we found something. Amid crusted pools of blood and human corpses was new kind of stiff.

It was clearly something massive, a quadra-ped judging from the bone remains. A dark silver pulp of matted hair covered much of the skeletal chunks. Its skull was broken into several pieces, the dark metal slugs of rifle bullets providing an explanation. The men and women of Shedairah had died fighting, in the spirit of their commander. Though his intellect and diplomacy were near non-existent, Major Blockhead was definitely no chicken shit coward. I couldn't deny him his combat enthusiasm.

"Do you believe me now?" I turned to Locke, than looked down at the unidentified dead thing. Its fur texture was almost like that of a lobo or red fang, but its size was much larger, the size of a horse at least.

The treasure hunter crouched down and examined the remains. "This only proves that a monster was here, and that someone killed it. It does not conclusively prove that a monster group carried out the attack. This could've come inside afterward. Show me something living." The science techs photographed the remains and collected some bone and hair samples for later study.

The next room was larger. Sections of what looked like bone were embedded everywhere, in the decayed human bodies, in the floors, the wall, even high in the ceiling. Something had exploded here, but what?

"A fang bomb?" Sabin questioned.

"Or a monster?" I offered. "Something that could blow itself apart when surrounded or injured?" I could only guess this was the case. Scientists gathered various splinter fragments.

We searched the rest of the army base to no avail. It was time to explore the mining caves. Maybe we'd find something living in a more natural environment. Down the hallway was a stairwell that led to the upper caves. We descended to the mine caves, to what had been my personal hell more than two weeks back.

I counted my blessings. The floodlights down here worked better than those in the base. Even more pools of dried liquid were lying about. I couldn't tell if they were dried blood or that gold-brown shit from the processing chamber. Several dead human bodies, or fractions of bodies, were randomly scattered, but nothing inhuman was to be found.

_change in s_

We'd now reached the bottom-most documented level of the tunnels. Yet we'd found nothing that I'd hoped, no new monsters, no monster corpses. We didn't find shit.

We paced about in a large open cave that used to be a drilling and loading zone. With floodlights mounted in the stone ceiling high above, this area was adequately lit, save for one large alcove shrouded in darkness.

As I expected, Locke got in my face. "Well, here we are, nowhere to go but up, and what do we find? Nothing! Care to explain yourself?"

"Locke!" Terra nearly hissed his name. "How can you persist in accusing Leonard now? Without him we wouldn't even be here. We'd know nothing."

Locke retorted immediately. "We still know nothing, and what we've seen doesn't conclusively eliminate him as a suspect."

His loud accusation didn't brighten my mood, but a different concern arose from his blame game. "Keep your fucking voice down. Or do you like calling attention to us?" I hissed angrily.

"What's the matter? Don't you wanna attract the beasties that you claim did this?" Locke shot back in a mocking voice. Some of the military staff leveled similar expressions at me.

Terra got on Locke's case again. The two were cursing up a storm of blue streaks until Sabin and Vonius broke up the feud. I looked around and made out a large domed rock in the shadowy alcove.

Suddenly, a loud, low humming noise rang out. One of the Figaroan biologists turned to his large-framed partner. "Damn you! I said don't eat that bean soup."

That low noise came again. We all faced the darkened alcove. My stomach contracted as my jugular went into overdrive. The noise sounded again, louder.

The dome was moving. I could see large muscular outlines in the darkness. The source of the moaning stepped out from the shadows.

Terra's idea of tunnels connecting the mines to the gorge was now proven. Nothing this large could've gotten in through a military base entrance without tearing the place asunder. The giant poisonous moth was no longer my worst nightmare.

It was as larger than a houseboat. Much of its body was encased in a dark green shell, flat on the underside and domed on the top. The only openings in the carapace were the points where its neck, long whipping tail, and four muscled legs emerged. Its skin was like tree bark, rough and brown. Spikes were prevalent. Its tail had some at the tip, four claws were on each leg, and the shell was covered with several long protrusions of bone. The longest was dead center above its head, lancing out twelve or more feet in length. The colossus gazed at us through blazing amber eyes, and opened its maw to reveal dozens of foot-long canines lining a mouth large enough to swallow Narshe.

It bellowed a thunderous roar that echoed off the cavern's high walls and ceiling. Before the reverb died away, the titan pulled its head back into its shell and squatted down, aiming its large frontal spike directly at us.

"Split up!" Vonius shouted, competing with the monster's decibel output. "Don't make a single, stationary target."

We dispersed to the left and right as the monstrosity stormed past. Our small number gave us an edge. A large group such a battalion would've been crushed and gored into extinction by this thing with minimal effort.

The monster only moved at a brisk walk, but it moved quickly over a great distance, its bulk not compromising its movement. "Get them out of here!" Vonius issued another order, this one directed at some troops to rush the unarmed science team out the chamber. The addressed soldiers wasted no time in gathering the techies and escorting them up the slope we'd used upon entry.

To prove its agility again, the beast stopped its charge and turned around, executing a perfect 180 without staggering. As its head emerged from the shell, I spotted a feature of asymmetry; the beast had one right eye but two left eyes. Did that say anything about its origins?

It spotted something else, the fleeing group of soldiers and scientists, some of whom tried snapping its mug shot as they mad dashed to safety. The titan must've been camera shy. It roared and began chasing them. Fortunately, the team's head start allowed them to escape into the entry hall, which was too low and narrow to accommodate the monster's bulk.

But a chase was the last thing on its mind, and proved it had one. It stood on its hind legs and clawed at the space above the hall. The rock there was softer, as it had been enlarged through mining. Steel beams supported it, and the monster caught on to the construction schematic. It ripped at the rock and beams until the hallway crumbled. Even if the team reached the other side, our group was now in deep shit. The beast had cut off our group's escape path. I could see no other exits from the chamber.

The creature roared before turning its three eyes back to us. "Ready the cannons!" yelled Vonius. Those who carried the artillery weapons placed them on the ground in preparation to fire. "Ranged weapons in the meantime!"

The Lieutenant aimed his auto-crossbow at the new monster's head. He unleashed a flurry of bolts, and I fired shots from my rifle-axe. All the projectiles struck their target…causing little if any damage. The monster only snorted. The attacks were felt, but they caused mild itching at best. Other shots were more futile, harmlessly bouncing off the carapace and falling to the ground, bent from the impact.

"Cannons ready!" a gunner announced. Hopefully those pieces would succeed where our conventional weapons failed. Vonius had the gunners aim all five units at the head. The firing levers were pulled, the cannons' tips glowed brilliant turquoise blue, and five streams of energy zigzagged towards the monster's skull.

It side-stepped with ease, and the lightning beams missed by a wide margin, slamming against the rock far behind.

The monster readied itself and rushed us again, moving faster than the gunners could aim. It crushed two of the units in passing. We dodged it by splitting up and moving to the sides, but instead of stampeding past us like last time, the creature stopped and faced down one of our groups. A few soldiers, the Lieutenant, and I were now behind it, but still in a dangerous position. We dove into a nearby trench, beyond the reach of its tail. Our hiding spot was wide enough to allow us occupancy but narrow enough so the monster's feet couldn't fit inside.

"What the fuck is that?" the Lieutenant asked aloud.

"Now you know what I felt upon seeing the giant moth."

He returned a look of complete empathy.

_change in n_

"Remember what I told you. Mental commands create the techniques." Sabin cracked his knuckles and reiterated some early pointers. "Let's give the lard ass a taste of twin Aurabolts."

"Right." Falchion in my right hand, I balled my left into a fist and pointed at the monster's face. Now was the pivotal moment of determining how effective Sabin's training really was.

"Now!" Sabin clapped his fists together as I focused the energy in my mind.

Thick, shimmering beams of white and green energy exploded from our clenched fists. Both the Aurabolts hit the creature's head straight on. I pulled off the technique perfectly…

…Yet our combined Aurabolt strikes resulted in nothing but a fancy light show. The monster's head was completely undamaged by the attack. It didn't even grunt.

"It's immune to the element of spirit energy!" Sabin yelled out. I recalled that some monsters were unaffected by the power of the Aurabolt. In some ways, it was just like an elemental spell; some creatures were vulnerable to it, while others were immune.

Before Vonius could repeat the order to split up, we all did just that. The monster looked at us and turned its head. I saw dark lines on each side of the neck. Before I could question the purpose of those markings, I got my answer. They were _not_ markings.

From each of the lines sprouted a pair of long tentacles. They pushed outwards until all four of them waved around the creature's head. The skin over the ends folded back, brandishing a spike at each end.

Our being split up would no longer provide advantages. I barely saw the Lieutenant and Leonard in the ditch taking cover from the monster's tail. At our end, we were trying to evade the tendrils that whipped about. Two men hit the floor as one sailed passed them. They rolled to safety as it slammed downwards. Another tendril was coming down upon me!

With grace and agility, I pulled a swift side step and evaded the swipe, but only a split second passed between its impact and it readying a follow-up strike. The tentacle pushed forward. Putting my non-offensive training to use, I high-jumped to the side. The attack missed me, but I heard something hitting metallic armor.

When I landed, I looked back. The tentacle had gored three Figaroan troops, impaling their mail as though it were paper. Their bodies dangled limp as the tentacle flung them off. A few others tried one of the remaining lasers. They began aiming, but the monster's keen eyes didn't overlook this. It thrust a tentacle at the upward-aimed laser, cleaving it in two, the gunner barely evading death. It then stabbed at the next laser and ripped it to shreds. Vonius ordered his troops to remove the last unit before it too was demolished, but when he finished his order, a tendril snagged a man's leg and impaled his body. The tentacle forcefully swung the man's corpse onto the last gun, trashing it beyond repair.

One of the snaking tendrils was tracking Locke. He avoided a thrust by leaping to the side, but he tripped on something, fell, and didn't get up.

Vonius and I ran to his aide with a few soldiers. Sabin had already jumped in front of the creature and was trying to distract it by himself. He could still be foolhardy, but in this situation there few other practical choices. Our other teammates were still held at bay by the tail. I tried to help Locke up, but he stopped me. "My…hip's dislodged," he gasped between heavy breaths.

"I know the mantra art. I'll reset it." I sheathed my sword and bent down to rub the vital points. The mantra could help in re-attaching severed limbs. A dislodged hip was nothing in comparison.

"No!" Vonius barked. "Ms. Branford, I need your combat prowess to help me aide Prince Sabin." I glanced over and saw that one of the tendrils had just tripped Sabin. He rolled back onto his feet and back flipped to dodge another blow. The officer addressed the troops. "Your skills in medicine lend themselves to such injuries. Carry Mr. Cole to the shadowed corner and use traditional first aide procedures." The soldiers did as ordered.

Vonius and I ran to assist Sabin. There were three off us in the front and four tentacles keeping us at bay. Its tentacles were long, giving it an obscene reach. It could strike at us without taking a step, allowing it to pin down Leonard and the others from where it stood. We had room to move back, but doing so would bring the creature closer to where the medics were treating Locke. Leonard and the others weren't in any danger, as long they crouched in the ditch.

Sabin regained his breath just in time. Another tendril swooped about. He ran to the left, and a tentacle followed his movement. I took note and broke to the right, distracting one more. That left Vonius in the middle with two bearing down upon him.

He quickly ducked one as it swept in from the side. As it recoiled upwards, the other one thrust forward. He sidestepped, picked up a fallen man's curved Murasame blade, and charged. He swung his matching swords, creating a windmill of razor-edged steel. Cyan had trained his army well in the Doman sword arts. As I jumped over the one tracking me, Vonius sliced rapidly into the tendril he'd just dodged, and the long snaking tentacle was split in half. The loose segment crashed to the ground.

The monstrosity hissed in rage as the stubby tendril base curled backwards. Vonius turned his offense on the other tentacle near him and hacked away. The second one got sliced off and fell limp to the cave floor, causing another groan.

Vonius had closed the distance between himself and the creature. He was close to the face now. While the beast kept Sabin and me occupied by its two remaining tendrils, it crouched down, opened its mouth and lunged its head forward. Vonuis rolled to the side as the thing's jaws snapped down upon where he stood only a second before. His red cape was torn off by the bite attack. Sabin took the opportunity and literally jumped on his respective tentacle, pinning it to the ground. He pummeled the boneless organ with his stone claws until the tissue split apart. There was only one tentacle left. I figured we'd get our advantage back. I was wrong!

If this thing could get immunized to Aurbolt energy and hide tentacles in its neck, it had other hidden abilities it unleashed when the time was right.

The stumps of its three severed tentacles started oozing. Slime, colored like mucus, burst from the stubs in thick, gelatinous blobs. Reflexively, Vonius slashed toward one of the gouts. The blob of goop bounced off his sword and disintegrated upon the ground. But so did the blade of his left Murasame! The fluid was a corrosive slime that rusted his sword upon contact.

I couldn't see what came next, because I had to dodge a swing from the last tentacle. I back stepped out of its reach, just in time to see Vonius's other sword get slimed. He shouted and dropped the Murasame, so heavily rusted that it shattered upon hitting the rock floor. He retreated, and I joined him once the tentacle recoiled.

It wasn't just his sword that got hit. Vonius's right palm was swollen to an angry purple, the skin cracked and bleeding in several places. Sabin ran over and observed the wound. "Dried skin," he noted before looking at the monster, than at a large rock. "Terra, you think you can take cover there and start a mantra healing? I'm going in. I'll get underneath and try to break open the shell's underside. I'll also try buying the others a chance to rejoin us."

"Sounds like a plan. Just be careful." Vonius clenched his teeth in pain as he spoke. I escorted him to the boulder.

"Always." Sabin went for a strike.

He charged the monster head-on first. The acid globs sizzled harmlessly against the silver bubble of his protective aurashield. When Sabin was almost nose-to-nose with it, he broke to the side, evading the last tentacle and running between its left legs to get directly under the belly. He knelt down, and leapt maybe nine feet into the air, driving both his fists into the shell's underbelly with two swift punches.

But when he came back down, he snarled in pain. Both of his stone claws had broken against the shell, and blood was streaming down his fists. I could only imagine he'd broken some hand bones in those futile strikes. Was the monster's defense specially suited to negate blitz offense?

He ran out from underneath, kicking a front leg in his passing. That got its attention.

As I watched, I wrapped a bandage around Vonius's hand. Sabin returned to us as Vonius drew some knives. Most other weapons lying about had been stomped upon or rusted by the slime. "Sabin, you're hurt!" I pointed to his bloodied hands.

"I'll handle my own injures," he called out. "You need to join up with the others. They're free, now that the bastard moved. It chased me a few steps." At least part of Sabin's plan had gone smoothly.

_change in n_

Finally, I could look up without seeing the monster's other rear weapon; its meter-wide ass crack. Bowel relief was a must, even for this gargantuan snapping turtle (or GST for short).

We'd seen bits of the fight at the head end. With Locke wounded, Sabin not much better with two broken hands, and two surviving troops caring for the former, we were fast running out of options. It could feel attacks against its legs, despite its thick skin. Attacks on the legs would be suicide.

The shell was just as bad. Our weapons didn't even scratch the surface. It was like solid rocks here in the mines, rocks so hard that mining tools wouldn't break them. Our only way to even crack them was to…

"Lieutenant!" I shouted so I wouldn't be drowned out by the footsteps and growling. "I think I have a plan! When we needed to destroy large boulders, we'd fetch dynamite from storage closets in rooms like this one."

"Okay, assuming you find some undamaged sticks, what then?"

Finding dynamite was only part of the plan. Just thinking about the storage closet gave me an idea. "Other supplies could be in there, like vinyl tape. I could attach the sticks to the shell," I looked up at the creature. Terra slashed at the tentacle, but only grazed it as she lacked the expertise of Vonius. I couldn't deny the Captain his swordplay after seeing his performance. "Maybe there's some cable or the like in the closet. If I can climb on top of the shell and attach the sticks, that could blow open a hole and create a weak point."

He smiled morbidly. "Well, I don't see any better alternative."

""I'm going for the storeroom," I declared. "Distract the bastard so it doesn't see me. And tell the others about my plan too. I don't want the creature riled when I'm on its back."

He wished me luck before telling the other troops of my plan. When they ran to update the others, I ran the other way, towards the storage room.

As I expected, the grate to the storeroom was locked. It swung outward, and I pulled my knife to remove the hinge pins. With them gone, I pried the door away with my axe and went inside. In the back corner was a supply chest. A generous supply of repair tape was my first treat inside, and a working lighter came next. But I only found two sticks of dynamite. When clearing boulders, we never used less than five to a bundle. At least these two were functional.

I searched the rest of the closet and found my last necessity, a long thick chain with a hook at the end. That would serve as access to the shell's top. I had the supplies. Now came the hard part, hooking the chain on the shell's rear and climbing up while evading the tail.

I pocketed the tools and raced back to the scene of conflict, lugging the chain on my shoulder. The monster had its back to me. One Figaro soldier tossed a mace at the head. Sabin, with bandaged knuckles, was able to throw kicks at that sent some air waves into the nose. The Lieutenant, whose name was still a mystery, fired a crossbow bolt into its mouth, causing it to groan and squat. I took the chance and rushed over, twirling the chain like a lasso before tossing it onto one of the back end shell spikes.

It caught and wound itself around the protrusion. Now I had to climb it before the tail started swinging. Adrenaline provided me with extra speed. The chain was easy to climb, its wide links providing the perfect footholds. Once I reached the top of the shell, I hoisted up the chain and bunched it around the spike. I'd need it for getting back down.

Time for step three; placing the explosives. Weaving around spikes equal to my own height, I reached the long spike in the front. Here front would make an easily-accessed weak point, if my plan worked. While balancing on the spike's base, I looked down. The back of the GST's neck four three below me, at most! The tentacle was hovering overhead, not chasing any down below. But at least I was unseen and unfelt.

I put the charges on the underside of the long spike and wound the tape. With it secured, I lit the dynamite fuses. It was time to get off this ride from hell.

As the monster turned a slower 180, I proceeded to its rear and unwound the chain. A few steps downward, the tail began swinging again. When it stopped, I descended to the halfway point and leaped off completely. The monster stomped away as I hit the ground.

I rejoined the others and yelled for them to disperse. Seconds later, the explosion came. The long spike in front toppled off the carapace.

The GST was roaring again, though more high-pitched this time thanks to its life-threatening wound. A large gaping hole was now in the shell, just above its head, a dark fluid spilling out. My insane plan had worked perfectly.

As the wounded monstrosity staggered, the Lieutenant raised his auto-crossbow and loosened another load. I fired off the remainder of my clip. Other troopers shot more bolts as Terra swung her sword, sending a blurry wave of something into the monster's wound. The beast shuffled backwards as we drove it away from Locke's position. It limped back into a part of the room we'd not seen until now thanks to the dim lighting above.

This new region sloped downward. The monster's retreat quickened as it slid down the descent. I emptied my ammo clip and reloaded as Terra sent another air slash into the monster's wound. As the military staff stopped their advance to reload, I took several steps forward to better aim my restocked piece. The monster opened its mouth, but didn't scream this time. Instead, the area around its maw began to ripple, distorting everything behind it.

If one creature could blow itself apart when trapped or wounded, this GST also had a desperation attack. And if the giant moth could belch poison needles, this hellish creation could spew up a compressed sound wave.

"Pull back!" I didn't know who gave the order, but I'd already advanced so far ahead that pulling back wouldn't remove me from the line of fire. I had to go forward…towards the dying abomination!

The noise was beyond human auditory reception; I heard nothing. But I definitely saw a fuzzy mass of energy erupt from its mouth. The blast hit between me and my comrades, the ground trembling violently as solid stone broke with a horrendous cracking noise. I dropped to my knees and rolled once, landing on my side as to keep from sliding down the descent. Behind me, dust floated in the air, obscuring my view beyond.

The monster was now at the bottom of the slope, still retreating. It was prepping another sound blast. As I began running for cover, the thing's back leg stepped on the chain, still dangling from its shell. It pulled itself off balance and fell backwards, spitting its sound wave upwards into the ceiling. I dove forward again, as everything from gravel to full stalactites rained down from above.

The GST scampered back some more, finally coming to a halt under a catwalk. The outside of its mouth was pulsating again, building up for yet another sonic-boom. In that instant, I noticed an undamaged florescent light hanging under the catwalk from a chain…directly above the shell opening.

Using the environment resourcefully, I aimed and fired, not at the monster's injury, but at the light's thin suspension chain. It snapped, and the light fell downward into the bleeding hole, electrocuting the monster's blood supply directly.

It curved its neck upwards, and let out a final screech of pain before shooting its last sound wave upwards in a wide, fuzzy arch. The GST's buffed legs gave way and sprawled outwards, causing its underbelly to slam down onto the stone floor. The last tentacle went limp and its neck followed suit. The monster's eyelids draped shut over its three eyes, never to open again. The GST was finally dead.

But I would be too if I didn't get the hell away from its carcass. The last sound wave had caused another small cave-in. I turned and bailed as rock chunks dropped to the ground. As I crossed a pile of stones that fell after the second blast, something caught my foot and pulled me downward. My rifle-axe sailed from my fingertips.

_change in n_

"Terra!" I could hear the Lieutenant's voice, but only saw the blurry outline of his face. My forehead was aching and I felt dizzy. "Terra can you stand?" He spoke again, and I blinked my eyes into focus. He was bleeding from his lip and eyebrow.

We'd all been thrown backwards when the monster fired a burst of sound energy at our position. We avoided being hit directly, but the shockwave was enough to send us flying. I could hear Sabin swearing liberally behind me. Locke had rejoined our group with the medics, who were trying to re-bandage Sabin's cracked knuckles.

Locke rushed over to help Vonius, who was lifting a rock slab off his foot. When the two men pushed the fragment aside, Vonius took a step and cringed. "I believe my shin bone's cracked."

The treasure hunted offered the Captain his shoulder. I stood shakily, brushing gravel from my hair. Before us, a jagged crater nearly a foot deep and nine feet in diameter had been etched into the cave floor. Several chunks of rock were broken off, one of them nailing Vonius in the foot.

"Leonard!" I gasped, realizing one of us hadn't been accounted for. He'd gone ahead of us and couldn't avoid the sound blast by retreating. Then, amid some lingering dust, I spotted him at the bottom of the slope, at least 200 feet away.

He was laying on his side at the foot of a rock pile, his back to us. I called his name but he didn't answer. Perhaps he didn't hear me over the echoes and rumblings. His hand moved slightly, so I knew he was alive. Had he been injured as well? Was his leg pinned under a fallen rock?

I heard the rumblings again, this time with a deep cracking sound overhead. The ceiling above him was cracked. A sound blast had been fired upwards. The end of a blunted stalactite was moments away from falling…right upon where Leonard had collapsed!

I screamed again, before my head throbbed with dizzying pain. Leonard would be killed if we didn't do something. But what could we do this far away? Sabin with his hand injuries and I with my disorienting headache were in no state of concentration to pull off a blitz and shatter the rock. A sword art or sword blitz was also not an option. Vonius's twin long swords had already been destroyed and my own falchion had been lost from my grip when I was hurled backwards. Our short knives were unfit for such techniques, and even had an axe been suitable, all of them were dulled beyond use during the fight.

Tears welled in my eyes as I perceived the inevitable. I could not save Leonard this time. None of us could.

"No!" Vonius shouted. "I will not allow this! I shall aide him!"

I looked at the Captain. "How?"

Vonius looked back at me. "I can shield him with myself from the falling rock."

"But Vonius," I almost screamed, "you'll be-"

He cut me off. "I know Ms. Branford. But realize that after seeing that man in action, I believe in him. This disaster was not of his making."

I nodded, forcing back the tears. Leonard would live and Vonius would die. Yet Leonard would understand that sacrifice had its values. He'd understand that Vonius respected him, and would respect him and Cyan in return. Leonard would no longer see the Doman and his Captain as accusers.

Vonius looked at us. "Farewell." And with that, he turned and started running down the slope without the slightest a limp. He'd forced his broken shin aside.

As the cracking sound got louder, the stalactite's end finally gave way. Vonius was beyond the halfway point now, closing the distance between him and the prone man some two decades his junior. He'd lived to make the ultimate sacrifice, and that was how he'd die.

He was only a dozen feet away from Leonard now. He squatted down, preparing a leap to cover the younger man. I was confident in the outcome…

…until that very last instant!

Of all the directions that the situation could have taken, absolutely nothing prepared me for the one it took next. All that dictated Vonius's lifestyle—duty, servitude, sacrifice—was now being debunked before him, but he'd already committed himself beyond the point of no return.

How had we gone wrong? We had clearly not assessed Leonard's situation properly. I watched in anguish, coming to one final realization; Leonard Gurosawn would never have a reason to show Vonius Kades any gratitude. The young Narshean would owe the Captain absolutely nothing…

_change in n_

My rifle-axe was inches from my fingers, yet still out of reach. The death grip on my ankle was strong, pulling me back and holding me down. The GST hadn't been alone.

A clawed limb reached out between stones at the rock pile's bottom. Something long and pink emerged from another gap. Its tip ended in a sharp talon.

I'd already looked behind. Nothing but a dust cloud was visible atop the downgrade. I couldn't even hear my own voice over the rumblings. Calling for help was not an option. I did the only thing I could, grabbed the pink thing at the talon's base and held it back with my left hand, pushing it to the ground. I reached into my leg pocket and felt…

…my knife was gone! Where had I placed it? I reached into my other pocket and felt its lining. Both my back pants pockets were empty as well.

I kicked the hand with my free leg. The grip only tightened. It was like a prison shackle made from coarse flesh the color of uncooked meat.

If I didn't have my knife I could use a substitute. Next to my hip lay a shard that fell from above. It looked the perfect shape; long, flat, and jagged on one side. Well if it worked for the cavemen, it could work for me? I grabbed the shard and made a cut when gravel pelted me from overhead. I knew what this meant. Rocks had already fallen. If I didn't free myself from this grabber though, I wouldn't even live long enough to be crushed.

I couldn't waste time on the pink thread. It was the hand that restrained me. I lifted the shard in my right hand and drove the point downward into the wrist. The hand convulsed and the fingers increased their efforts. But at least this thing could be hurt.

Thread in my left hand and shard in my right, I began some quick, short motions with the jagged edge. Raw flesh was split open first, and what passed as tendons were next to be slashed. I cut between the bones. The thick muscles were all that remained.

Rocks the size of golf balls hit the ground left and right. Something had been dislodged and was coming down. I kept my eyes focused on the three fingers and thumb, the only things between me and escape. I put more pressure into my slashes.

One more back-and-fourth motion did the trick. The hand opened, attached to the wrist only by a strip of skin. Stabbing the pink string with the shard, I utilized a move which Privates learned in basic training.

Duck dive and roll.

I dove to the right, my chest hitting the ground. A loud crash followed. The falling rock came down…

…several feet behind me.

My pulse was pounding on overdrive again. But I was alive. I'd eluded the Reaper's hands once again.

Only this time, intervention on someone else's part wasn't necessary to ensure that. I, and I alone, had kept my name out of the obituaries. The voice inside my head that normally spoke of my shortcomings was now cheering me on. _Hooray for you, Leonard Gurosawn, one-man survivalist extraordinaire. Rah-rah-rah, sis-boom-bah, whooptie-motherfucking-do! You've got self-sufficiency coming out the ass my friend._

Unfortunately, my reverie was short-lived. Though some dust permeated the area, it was only a thin veil. I could see the details of my surroundings. In front of me was a hallway with a much lower ceiling than this chamber, and in that hallway was the vague, shambling silhouette. I blew the dust away and got a better look. It was a humanoid shape. Another survivor? No, for another glimpse revealed details that said otherwise. The shoulders were too wide, the arms to long, the head not shaped right, and there was a tail. This was a third monstrosity to exterminate.

I'd grabbed my rifle-axe reflexively in my roll, as it was back in my hands. The humanoid shape continued down the hall. If I went back for help, it could slip away. I had to chase it now. The dust would provide cover.

The hallway curved to the left, then the right. I tracked the creature as it entered a brightly lit room with paved concrete walls and floor, a room filled with machinery and conveyer belts. Was it leading me into an ambush? Still in the hallway, I aimed my weapon at the monster, then saw another tactical advantage. The beast walked past a control panel filled with high voltage circuitry. I fired a round into the control box.

I ducked behind the hall's curve when the explosion came, just in case any shrapnel headed my way. None did. I peeked out to see if anything had moved, as such a blast would prompt such action. Nothing. I entered the room to inspect this next creature.

As I'd already seen, it was a vague humanoid shape. Its skin was the color of ripe green apples, but leathery like crocodile hide. Its head was elongated front to back, shaped like a Tyrano's, with a rounded snout when seen in profile. It either lacked eyes or just had really small ones. Its torso and limbs were carved from pure muscle, less robust than Sabin's collection. Sharp blades stuck out over its knuckles.

The damage was equally impressive. The tail and one leg were blown clear off while the other leg was broken backwards, with the foot hanging by skin alone. A large deep gash was across its chest, and twisted chunks of metal were stuck in its abdomen. A shard of piping was driven into one hand, and another into its shoulder. Its dark blood oozed on the floor and had splattered on the machinery.

I approached the wounded hellion and aimed my piece at its skull. "Nighty-night you fucking animal."

It turned its head to look straight at me. "N-n-not-t meerre an-ni-m-malll."

"That's for sure. Normal animals don't-" I stopped as the obvious suddenly hit me. "Holy fucking shit. You TALK!"

"S-ssome weee t-talk-k," it said in a wet rasp. Though it made no sounds of agony, I could tell from its slow movements that it was on the verge of death. "Not-t always live in th-this forrmm. Once live as-s oth-ther f-form."

Was it implying it had once been human? "Did you transform yourself with magic?" I couldn't think of any other question.

I got the expected answer, but with some extra commentary. "N-no magic-c. Wee no dep-pend on foreign es-sence."

If it could talk, maybe it could answer a few burning questions. I had to try. Interrogating a dying human was no easy task. To grill this…humo-reptilian was something else altogether. I now regretted giving it such wounds. "What are you?" I asked. "A species from the moons? A genetic hybrid? A hell-spawn?"

The monster made coughing sounds. "Weee chos-sen-n. Wee cree-ate world-d for worrr-thee. Wee ans-swer c-call of-" it started coughing again. This only raised more questions. Chosen by what, and what call was it answering?

"You attacked this facility, didn't you. Why?" I demanded a motive.

It lifted both its hands off the ground for effect, but kept its pointed knuckles facing downward. "Hunt-t inferrr-iorsss of low mind-d. Wee build-d new domain-n f-for on-nly in…gngnggg…" The reptile-man was gagging.

I reflected on the new reveal. This creature not only had a gratuitous ego, it also deemed Shediarah's people as nothing but a subspecies worthy of extermination. But what else did it know? Its answers were anything but. I looked down at its head. The smooth roundness of its snout bore a strong resemblance to something every man knows well.

"Listen phallic face, I'm not up for these guessing games. Who's this 'we'?" I was growing impatient, about as quickly as the monster's life energy was fading.

It looked up at me and _smiled. _"G-go f-fuck-k sself-f!" it spat out. I abruptly realized why Shediarah had fallen so easily. A taking monster was enough for a person's sense of reason to fail. A talking one with a bad attitude would make even Major Blockhead shit his pants. I was about aim for its head when it spoke. It sounded like mindless ramblings at first, but… Was this dinosaur-man speaking its own language?

Then its hands fell to the floor, its head sinking back and turning to the side, blood seeping from its wide mouth. The talking monster was dead. The only intel I'd get from it now would be the decomposition rate of its expired corpse. How honest had it been? It could've lied about everything, being chosen, answering a call, building a domain. Was there any reason to believe it?

But it had spoken, and that alone said volumes more than its actual words. I backed away from the dead reptile-man, a top-notch dickhead in more ways than one. We'd come here to learn something of this new enemy. Now that I just did, it was time to share this revelation.

_change in s & n_

"Vonius!" Despite his injuries, Sabin ran down the slope and lifted the fallen rock off Vonius's back. A soldier followed, and the two men brought Vonius back up the ramp, placing him under brighter lighting.

"You remember that healing mantra. Let's do this Terra! C'mon we have to work fast!" Sabin's words had an underlying note of panic that I'd never heard him use before. I knelt down across from Sabin and took note of Vonius's wound.

The rock was no bigger than a desk lamp, but it was a solid chuck of granite that had fallen at least 400 feet. Vonius was still alive due to his armor, but that was hardly a miracle. The same thing that kept him from dying upon impact was now causing him horrendous pain.

His armor was broken and dented inwards, with long shards of silver plunging into his back. For one insane moment, I actually wished for my old magic powers. A level three cure spell would instantly heal trauma even this severe. Vonius tried to speak but spit up a mouthful of blood.

"Don't talk. Save your strength." As Sabin held one hand, I took Vonius's other in mine and squeezed. He squeezed back. A few soldiers knelt down and placed their hands on his face. He looked up at them before his eyes rolled backwards.

"What are you waiting for Terra?" Sabin put Vonius's hand down and began unfastening the Captain's broken armor. "Start the goddamn mantra now!" I knew him as a disciplined instructor, but hearing him speak frantically like that sent a chill down my spine.

The Lieutenant reached down and put his hand on Vonius's neck. "Sabin-"

"Don't distract me!" Sabin snapped. "I need to focus all my energy into this mantra."

"Sabin," the Lieutenant put his hand on his Sabin's shoulder. "He has no pulse. It's over."

Sabin looked up at him, then looked upwards and shouted in loss. He started bawling into Vonius's hand.

"Why?" I almost screamed in a shaky voice. "There had to…there _was_ another way. He didn't have to do this." I was right. There was no point in denying that. His death was preventable. Seeing Sabin, the very man who taught me to control my emotions, lose control of himself like this was beyond numbing. I felt my own eyes wet. Tears were dripping down my face and chin, falling off and hitting the stone floor.

There were still many facets of life I had yet to learn. But after all we'd been through with fighting the Empire and Kefka, I never thought I'd be questioning _heroism_. Sacrifice was completely virtuous, especially laying down your own life to save another.

But here we were. Vonius's act of boundless bravery had earned him a pointless and demoralizing end. The outcome was unchanged. Vonius had died and Leonard had lived. But even within those confines was this tragic, unforeseen twist. This was beyond immoral. How could fate have been so cruel to render the most noble of actions wasteful and foolish? Vonius had survived the Empire that killed his brother and father. He survived the great collapse, the wrath of Kefka and his worshippers. He was promoted to a Captain amongst Cyan's most elite. He was a close ally and dear friend to all of us. Now, his act of ultimate courage had earned him a coward's death, balking and unsure of his own lifestyle in that last moment.

My heartbreak seemed immeasurable, but it was about to get even worse. "Bastard," Locke growled through his teeth. I tried looking at him, but my vision was blurred from tears. I was too weak to or speak. But I heard the agony in his voice, and recognized it well. Locke talked that way when speaking of Rachel, his love who he failed to protect after she lost her memory. He blamed himself for her death. Once again Locke had lost someone close, but now his voice carried something other than guilt. There was hate.

_No Locke. It's not his fault. I know you're beyond torment with sorrow right now, but don't blame him._

But my thoughts were only heard by me. Locke was oblivious. I could hear some distant footsteps. "Bastard," Locke hissed again.

_change in n_

I'd found my knife. Against my habit, I'd shoved it inside my jacket. Then again, it wasn't everyday that I placed explosives on the back of a monster that could run down a freight train. In one aspect the GST was more likeable. Its vocabulary was limited to roars and grunts. It didn't tell people to go fuck themselves. Yet despite of the dino-man's obnoxious demeanor, I'd learned something from it.

I walked up the slope to find a huge gouge in the cavern floor, with more broken rock chunks littering the area, obviously work of the GST's first sonic belch. The remaining soldiers were gathered in the lit center of the chamber, huddled in a circle. As I got closer I could hear whimpering, and saw the form of someone lying on the ground.

There was only one conclusion. Someone had been wounded or even killed by the first sonic blast. I got closer, and Locke stared at me.

I knew of his hair-trigger temper, but this new expression caught me off guard. His face burned crimson. He stepped within a foot of me. I could see my reflection in his glistening eyes. This was not the look he wore through our pre-GST search. This was different, a look that rivaled psychotic rage. "Bastard!" His voice would've drowned out all but the GST's roaring.

"What?" I asked, very confused.

"That?" Locke bellowed even louder, pointing behind him.

Vonius lay on the floor, with Terra and Sabin collapsed to their knees around him. The two appeared in some catatonic state, so traumatized they'd be irresponsive to any communication. The soldiers looked numb as well, and the Lieutenant was trying to console Sabin and Terra. That left Locke to explain it all.

"Vonius's dead." I stated the obvious.

"Because of you!" Locke's voice pierced the air once again, building another deluge of echoes. He was blaming me for Vonius's death. I hadn't expected this, not even from Locke.

"How?" I was still in shock. What could give him such a delusion?

"He ran to save you when you were in danger. He was willing to die to save your life."

Cyan's loyal dog trying to save _me?_ "That's not exactly convincing when rolling off your tongue."

Locke flew off the handle again, as I expected. "He was willing to die to shield you from the falling rock, but you were never incapable. You were in no danger at all. Vonius died because of your little pseudo-distress game."

The confusion vanished. Locke had no idea how close I'd come to having my throat lanced by that monster's talon, and he thought I was faking it all. "It was no game. Something reached out from under the rock pile and tripped me, then tried stabbing me with its talon thread. While keeping that at bay, I freed myself by cutting up its hand with a rock shard. I got away just before the falling rock hit the ground." My clarification did nothing to ease Locke fury.

"You fucking ungrateful bastard! Apologize! You got him killed!" Locke's voice level increased again. His face was only inches from mine.

"I did not. I never asked him to do…whatever the hell he did. I didn't cause his death." I could feel my own blood burn. The urge to lash out was culminating within me. He was screaming another false accusation. First the Shedairah attack and now Vonius's demise, both from a man who should've been more rational. I felt the impulse to grab his finger and bend it backwards…just as I'd done to Quentir Braslino.

The analogy made me sick. How could I compare Locke to Quentir? How could I assault a Returner? I restrained my urge to strike Locke where it hurt…until he said the next phrase.

"Terra," he looked back at the heroine with strange tastes in hair dye colors. If she heard him, she gave no indication. "I know that you've much to learn about all the dynamics of life. Many of them are outright shitty, as are many people. Maybe you shouldn't pride yourself on saving this bastard's life."

The color of Locke's face was now enveloping my vision. It wasn't enough that he tried putting me on a guilt trip, but now he had to fuck with Terra. There was no holding back now.

I subtly loosened my side straps until my rifle-axed clunked to the floor at my left. I bent down to reach over and pick it up with my right hand, than stopped. As Locke turned back to lecture me again, I struck out with my elbow, and directly nailed Locke in the…manhood? That didn't sound right. _The jewels_.

The treasure hunter fell to the floor and doubled over, clutching his groin. Whatever was down there had working pain receptors. He was still shouting, but now it was just blanks exclamations instead of damning words. I replaced my weapon in my jacket's straps and put my boot under his chin, forcing him to look up at me. "Listen Cole, I don't take orders from bed-wetters like yourself. I won't feel remorse or regret, because I've done nothing to merit either." I pressed my foot harder against his throat and leaned in closer. "You call yourself a hero to the world? You, Locke Cole, don't deserve to be called a fucking Returner."

A hand squeezed my wrist. "Leonard, that's enough! You've made your point already." The Lieutenant pulled me away from the treasure hunter with little man syndrome.

"Not everyone understands reality. But I'm finished, unlike someone else." I sent Locke a demeaning look as the newly-promoted commander helped him to his feet.

I was done making my point. In fact, I was done with the mission. I turned and stormed away from the hissing treasure hunter. The troops who'd fled the chamber with the science team had just penetrated the fallen rubble with their drill-spears, making the exit hallway accessible again.

"Leonard wait."

A voice called to me. This was not a hateful voice like Locke's. This voice was much quieter, and was ululating. I turned to look. Her green eyes were red from crying, and her face looked as though it was covered with melting ice.

_change in n_

I wanted him to know how grateful I was for him being alive. Yet I was too demoralized from Vonius's death to even lift my hand and reach out.

"I'm not welcome here. Locke already clarified that. I left the marks as we came down here. You can navigate your way back to the entrance without me." Leonard didn't stutter in his words.

So he felt we were blaming him for what happened to Vonius. I so wanted him to know otherwise, just as I wanted him to know that Vonius eventually believed in Leonard's innocence. "Leonard this…wasn't your…fault." I could hear my own weak voice.

But Leonard was already gone from the chamber. And with one friend dead and another one feeling alienated from the rest, the sorrow weighed down upon me. I couldn't even sit upright now. Fully drained of strength, I fell to the floor. My sobs reverberated off the vast chamber's high ceiling, perfectly symbolizing the magnitude of my sadness.


	10. The Amassing Storm

_Prescript: As some key events are unfolding away from the established cast, this chapter's opening and closing scenes are in third-person._

**Chapter 10: The Amassing Storm**

He sat alone, sipping his wine in a dark alleyway of Olistes, the area town. 'Arena town' was the perfect title, for in the wake of Palazzo's death, a great many people flocked to the outskirts of Dragon's Neck Coliseum to watch the fiercest beasts clash with the greatest brawlers. Before long, a great city was established in the surrounding area, the coliseum being the main landmark. This wandering brawler put down roots here, as it put him close to his only talent; fighting.

He took another drink and pondered his life's meaning, or the lack thereof. He was only good at killing, and felt substantially useless in a time of peace. He thought about his many failures, especially how he'd failed his only daughter. The only way he could ensure her safety was to leave her in the care of another when she was less than a year old, sever contact, and never tell her the truth, until circumstances forced him. Now she was a teenager, and she surely despised him.

He had no goals and just lived for the fight, nothing more than the test of strength. He only trusted himself in battle, and saw himself as failure in every other aspect.

The man finished his drink and tossed the empty bottle into a nearby recycling bucket, then stood up to leave the alleyway.

"Lacking direction?" asked a strange voice. The brawler was a little startled, as he never expected company here. Yet he was curious why this person addressed him. He turned around to face his new company.

"What's it matter to you?" The brawler faced the strange man who stood at the end of the alley, a dozen feet away. Who was this character? A fan, a fight promoter?

"I just thought I'd ask. Given your attitude, I would assume the answer is yes," the stranger answered.

The brawler didn't understand this man's curiosity. "So what if I am? If my life sucks shit, why would you care? It doesn't involve you."

The stranger just flicked his hair back. "What if you could change your lot in life?" The brawler's eyebrows went up. He listened with rapt interest to what the man said, if only to hear his words. "What if you had an opportunity to make a difference, and do something that would greatly benefit many, including yourself?"

The brawler was now thoroughly interested, though still confused. "What are you talking about? I'm only good at shedding blood. How can I help anyone in this world?"

"By fighting for something greater that a test of might. Self-hatred can be your greatest enemy. Believe that you're helpless for long enough, and that belief will come true." By now the brawler had come to expect such bizarre answers, though they were hardly pleasing. He was starting growing impatient with the stranger, but continued listening.

"Okay, fill me in," the brawler conceded.

The stranger thought to himself, remembering what to say and what not to. This brawler's reactions would determine whether or not he'd elaborate. He was vague, but specific enough so the brawler understood the basics.

"So what do you say?" The stranger concluded his offer.

The brawler wasn't curious or impatient now. He was enraged. "No!" he shouted loudly. He'd have drawn attention had anyone else been around to hear. "I gave up the mercenary trade years ago, forever. How dare you try luring me back into it!" He pointed his index finger at the man.

The stranger was still calm and collected. "But it's for a real cause. It's a chance to make a difference. Don't you want that?" Meanwhile, he was thinking to himself, _If the subject refuses with hostility…_

"Hah," the brawler laughed with sarcasm. "You think resuming my old habits of murder-for-hire is redeeming? I may be just a killer, but I exploit my talents through blood sport, not crime. I don't give a fuck who if their targets are a bunch of crooks. I'm not one, so you can fuck off. Besides, I've already made a difference in this world. I'm sure you're aware of my accomplishments. I've got some famous friends, if you didn't already notice. Have a nice day." The brawler sent the man one last hateful glare before turning around. He started walking.

The nameless stranger was un-phased. _So this is how it will be,_ he thought to himself before replying. "Yes, I'm well aware of your associates and your deeds." He then said something to the brawler about those associates, and mentioned a name that caused him to stop in his tracks.

"Shut the fuck up!" the brawler screamed. "That's the merc, the criminal, the assassin. That's not me." He spun around to face the stranger. "My name is NOT Clyde Arrown-".

He was suddenly cut off, surprised by two things. He'd been walking away from this strange man after standing several feet away from him. He never heard any footsteps. But when he turned around, he was nose-to-nose with the stranger. How could anyone move so fast over such a distance, and without making a sound?

He was also not expecting a sharp pain to rip into his neck. He grunted, and was deciphered a tube-like object in the stranger's fist. But he knew the man had shoved it into his neck. The pain told him that much, and the following sensations of blurred vision and dizziness told him what that object was. That was his last thought.

The stranger placed the tranquilizer syringe back in his coat pocket and smiled. "Defiant, as a loose cannon would be," he mumbled to himself. The brawler had already fallen unconscious. "But that doesn't mean you'll be of no use to us." He turned around and called over his shoulder. "He's down. Take him." After giving that order, the mysterious man looked at the large building nearby, Dragon's Neck Coliseum.

_change in s _

The humanoid monster charged its opponent, who was a mere one third of its size.

But that opponent was a seasoned gladiator, and dodged the giant's foot stomps with ease. The giant creature grew frustrated and began slapping at the fighter, but only hit the sand floor of the arena. As the giant lifted its hand to strike again, the fighter rushed between its legs. He drew his sword once behind the creature, and forcefully slashed just above the giant's ankle. With its hamstring muscle severed, the giant could no longer stand. It screamed and toppled to the floor. As it desperately tried standing on its good leg, the fighter ran toward its face and slashed at its throat. His weapon glowed with some essence, and when the blade pierced the monster's flesh, there came a small explosion, not unlike the crack of distant thunder.

The creature's blood spilled out of its lacerated throat and splashed upon the sand below. It moaned once before dying. The victorious gladiator brushed the sand from his cape and raised his bloodied sword upwards. The audience burst into applause. Their cheers of awe and admiration filled the coliseum all the way up to its newly-built ceiling.

"And the rare strain of Brodstroy Borras has fallen," coliseum founder Thomun Voykowitz enthusiastically announced through the arena's microphone system "to none other than our reigning champion, Ziegfried Morersch!"

Camera flashes went off as several chocobo wagons entered the arena floor. Crewmen strapped the Borras's corpse on the flatcars to be hauled away and scavenged for meat and hides. Ziegfried gave one last bow to the audience before walking off through one of the fight pit doorways.

He was used to such praise. He'd been the undefeated champion of Dragon's Neck Coliseum for nearly four years. He was amongst the first of its regular contenders, and was used to giving autographs and having his picture taken with his many thousand fans. The initial rush of stardom had lost its flavor. What he desired now after a victory was not the limelight, but mere peace and quiet.

Ziegfried walked down a long hallway of the arena's private quarters, towards the room that was his residence. As he stuck a key in the doorknob, he heard the sound of hands clapping. "Impressive," a voice commended Ziegfried's performance.

The reigning champion acknowledged the man. He took note of the stranger's appearance and surmised that he was another gladiator. "Thank you." Ziegfried gave his usual brief reply.

"Those talents of yours could come in handy," the stranger said. "There's a chance to use those skills for something far more significant than some arena fight."

"Oh?" Ziegfried was curious. He was not expecting this.

_Maybe this one won't react with such hatred,_ thought the stranger. He began to describe with a few details what he meant.

"That's interesting," Ziegfried commented "but it's really my forte. I am a skilled fighter, but I don't feel motivation to join such ranks. I don't share in their cause and don't feel any need to involve myself. It'd be much different if their affairs pertained to me, but they don't."

The stranger nodded. "That is understandable. Actions without ample motivation are innately valueless." _At least he wasn't hostile. I've others to address here, including the old acquaintance. _

"I wish them luck in their efforts." Ziegfried unlocked his apartment door. It wasn't a regular occurrence, but it wasn't strange for people to stop by Dragon's Neck seeking to employ those with exemplary combat skills. The events the stranger mentioned were nowhere near Olistes, so they had nothing to do with Ziegfried. Still, he respected the man for addressing his fighting expertise.

"Good luck," Ziegfried said as he opened the door. He turned to bid the strange man farewell. "Maybe we'll cross paths some-". The stranger had already vanished down the long hallway.

_change in s & n_

_**Terra, I am deeply sorry for your loss. Vonius was a grand warrior. His death is a tragedy, and the way he died has surely made his passing even more agonizing. I know how you feel because I feel it too. Your tears are my tears. We cry together. **_

I took in Maduin's telepathic words of consolation, then wiped my eyes and looked around.

It took three days for Edgar and Charise to organize this. Figaro Castle's courtyard was packed. The last time it looked like this was for Edgar and Charise's wedding a year after Kefka's death. There were no chairs. To maximize space, everyone had to stand. Word of Vonius's passing had spread quickly, and locals form this capital were here to pay their dues to a well-known ally of the Returners.

Many had also come from the western regions. In the city of Quildern, where Locke and Celes lived just beyond the western mountains, they'd told me of seeing people from Kohlingen. Though most of them wore tradition formal clothing, some people in street clothes who were luckier than most commoners had found space inside the courtyard. The balconies that wrapped around the open courtyard were also crammed with mourners.

I looked to the yard's north end, with the doors to the castle's commerce hall and main level. As Returners, we were granted a space in the front row. Cyan was dressed in his usual dark blue tunic and armor, crouched on one knee with his head bowed down. Next to him, dressed in a white shirt, black pants, and a deep blue dress coat was Sabin. It was one of the few times he wasn't wearing his standard loose pants and sleeveless t-shirt. He appeared to be sobbing, and Edgar, dressed in similar garb, was trying to console him. Next too Edgar, dressed in a long black gown with her strawberry blonde hair tied into an elegant bun, was Charise. Like Cyan, her head was bowed. Behind them in a green and brown robe was the Chancellor.

Setzer was next to me. "Take risks, play the game of chance. Yes, you may lose and that's a fact of life, but…" he chocked in some words. "What if you don't know the rules of the game, and don't know what you're getting into?" He was referring to the way Vonius died.

We couldn't keep it a secret, not after Locke kept going on about how Leonard was responsible for Vonius's death. I explained that was hardly the case. Vonius was willing to die to shield Leonard from a falling rock, but Leonard somehow managed to move away on his own at the last moment, with the rock falling on Vonius only seconds later. Leonard's story of a monster grabbing his leg and holding him under the cave-in was reinforced when the science team found something with its arm sticking out from the rock pile, its hand almost severed off. Yet this information did nothing to convince Locke of Leonard's innocence.

Cyan joined Sabin, Edgar and Charise as the doors opened. The presiding speaker was Sabin's girlfriend Marielle. Though only about Locke's age, she was one of the higher priestesses in the Sisterhood. She was dressed in a loose robe the color of slate, with her dark chestnut hair pulled back into a long braid. She was tall for a woman, as she towered over Relm, me, and even Celes by several inches. At Returner parties, she often laughed more than she spoke, as she was a person of few words. She reserved her voice for times when words mattered most, like a military Captain's funeral.

She walked to the short, moveable podium placed at the foot of the steps to the doors. On top of it was a polished wooden slab displaying Vonius's body. As he died after the giant monster turtle, his body hadn't been crushed or slimed by the creature, and therefore still looked presentable. His body was dressed in an olive green tunic and a red cape, similar to the one he'd lost in the fight. He wore leather armor and held a wood replica of a Doman Murasame against his chest.

My hand was on Relm's shoulder. She was sniffling so heavily that I was about to, with some hesitation, let her use the sash tied around my waste to wipe the tears away. Setzer generously offered her a bundle of tissues from his coat pocket. Normally Gau would hold Relm's hand in these circumstances, but Gau was off to the side conversing with Locke in hushed tones while making angry faces. Gau had sided with Cyan and Locke regarding Leonard's guilt, if it only because he never went against Cyan's judge of character. Celes just stood behind us, quiet and attentive.

Marielle clipped some sort of mic to the neck of her robe and tapped it, filling the courtyard with loud thumps that brought any background chatter to a halt. "Greetings, people of Narshe, Figaro, and all neighboring regions." Her voice ululated as though she were crying, even though her voice just had that natural sound to it regardless of her mood. Not that she wasn't saddened by the Captain's death. She just didn't know him like we Returners did. "We have gathered here on this morning to bid this man and those who perished in his company farewell as they depart our world for the other side."

The ceremony proceeded. I was thankful that only the surviving Special Forces personnel and we Returners knew the true nature of his death. How devastating it would've been for the nation at large to discover the Captain died in such a manner, suffering a degrading and obscene mortality not in spite of his heroic efforts but directly _because_ of them. There were times when valor and sacrifice weren't enough to prevent defeat. But what's a person to believe in when valor is the reason for defeat and selflessness becomes foolishness? We could take down dictatorships, slaughter mythical dragons, and topple deified warlords, but under our daring accomplishments we were all still human. We couldn't numb ourselves to the anguish of knowing a self-sacrifice became an accidental suicide.

"Oh gods and goddesses of vast Sayitheren, ancient stars, and sacred heavens, enshrine the spirits of this man and his fellows and welcome them as they leave our presence to embrace yours." Marielle finished her speech.

It was now Edgar's turn to speak. He took the mic from Marielle and stepped up to the podium. Unlike Sabin, Edgar had to keep himself composed before a crowd. It was yet another restriction that came with being King. "It is with great sadness that we must do this. Vonius Kades was more than just a soldier. He was a husband, father, and a dearest friend. I can speak for many when I say that he'll be missed. But to really know Vonius is to know that we cannot dwell upon the dark. He would say to march on. We must commemorate all that he shared in his time with us. We are not here to remind ourselves of Vonius's death, but to celebrate his life." Edgar's choice of words couldn't have been better. "We do not weep for Vonius. He has ascended now. We…" Edgar stopped suddenly, but regained himself. "We weep for each other in our shared loss. Let us close this eulogy with a moment of silence." Edgar stepped back and joined his wife, brother, General, and Chancellor.

Marielle picked up a basin of incense and lit it while Edgar and Charise motioned for the crowd to clear the central walkway. Edgar took the foot end of the slab holding the Captain's body while Cyan took the head end. With Marielle in front of them, the two men lifted the display slab and carried it out towards the castle's southern entrance. Charise and the Chancellor were right behind them, and Sabin motioned for the rest of us to follow.

The street outside Figaro Castle was filled more with commoners than upper class. A group of chocobo carriages were lined up against the sidewalk. In the front was a flatcar upon which Edgar and Cyan placed the funerary slab before joining Sabin, Marielle, Charise, and the Chancellor in the first carriage behind it. The rest of us entered the second carriage. Mounted guards and soldiers positioned themselves on either side of our wagons. They led our procession west, toward the cremation grounds. I kept looking outwards, unable to meet the eyes of Locke or Gau.

We disembarked at the cemetery, where only a select few were allowed for the private cremation. A group of military men and women stood at attention, wearing olive green dress tunics and matching berets. I recognized Leonard's friend Rodney and the Lieutenant from the Shedairah mission.

Edgar and Cyan placed the slab displaying Vonius's body upon a stone alter. A mortuary worker presented wheelbarrow containing several chunks of wood. Another one held a large silver urn. We stood watching, silent as Edgar and Cyan took the wood chunks and piled them on Vonius's corpse.

When they finished piling the wood, Marielle took the silver urn and turned it over, pouring oil upon the mass of lumber. She returned it to the mortuary hand and pulled a lighter and a small candle from inside her robe. After whispering a quick chant, she lit the candle and tossed it on the pile. With a fast 'swoosh' the flames covered the entire stack and ignited a magnificent funeral pyre. Cyan put his hand to his forehead in a military salute, and the dressed military personnel followed his example, backs straight and faces high as they bid their Captain farewell.

As flames danced and smoke streamed upwards, Edgar cleared his throat. "As we speak, my dining staff is preparing a full buffet lunch. I invite you all to return to the castle's dining room for this meal."

We rode back to the castle and made for the large dining hall. I took very little, just a handful of soup crackers, half a root beer, and single banana. I was too depressed for a complete meal, saddened over many aspects. Losing Vonius like we did was bad enough, but that was far from the only tragedy to crush my spirit. I was sad for Leonard. I knew that Cyan was a man of chivalry, a father figure who, despite his own horrifying experience with death, was still a man of wisdom who could educate and console us in times of need.

But Leonard knew nothing of Cyan's virtues. All he saw in the aged General was an accuser with a narrow mind. I remembered Leonard's words. _He's judging me because he's prejudiced. I am what he and his outdated culture despise. _All he saw in the Doman was a technophobe who was behind the times and spiteful of those who lived a different lifestyle.

He saw Locke as little different. I knew that Locke was a fearless fighter and generous friend, but his seriousness in protecting others could make him paranoid and trigger his short temper. He was deadly serious in defending others, even when the danger was only in his mind. Like Cyan, he'd come to distrust Leonard, and that soon became a vile dislike. When Locke thought with his emotions, the result was nothing but tragic.

And Gau. He also shared Locke and Cyan's theory…

I suddenly felt my eyes welling up with tears again. Knowing that Leonard felt betrayed by people he once thought trustworthy was the last straw. I stood up and ran from the dining hall into the vacated courtyard. I leaned against one of the pillars and let my heartache out, just as I'd done right after Vonius passed away. My tears formed a small puddle on the mortar walkway. Then, in between ragged gasps of breath, I sensed a presence. I dried my eyes and turned around.

Locke was standing there, and from the redness of his eyes, I realized he'd been crying as well. But as I expected, there was a look of contempt in them too. I knew what was coming. There was no stopping the inevitable clash now.

"Some friend you've made yourself. Fucker didn't even show up today. Of course, killers usually don't want to face the outcome of their victims' deaths, so they keep a distance from those they've hurt," Locke snarled.

I clenched my fists at my sides, unable to speak. The sadness was being overrun by rage. How could he do this? I never thought Locke would be so cold as to blame a person for something they clearly didn't do. "Locke!" I managed to growl back despite the lump in my throat. "How dare you. He did nothing wrong. Grief is no excuse to lay the blame on innocent people. And Leonard owes Vonius nothing. Sabin and the soldiers didn't lift the Captain off him, only the cave floor."

Locke paused before glowering again. "But he's not here, not even to help you grieve. Not that I want him around. But don't you think if he truly gave a shit about you, he'd be here?"

That was still no surprise. "Not after the way you treated him, getting in his face and yelling at him to either apologize or feel guilt for something he didn't do. You've ostracized him. I'm sure he finds you utterly sickening by now. Of course he's keeping a distance."

Locke stepped forward. "Listen to yourself. Listen to how you defend this bastard. His little prank of fake distress got Vonius killed, and you deny-"

"WHAT FUCKING PRANK?" I screamed, uncaring if anyone heard me. "Why the hell would Leonard stop and sit underneath a falling rock of his own accord? So what if he moved at the last possible second. If he was never in danger, why didn't he move sooner? Something grabbed him and held him down until the last moment. In fact, the biology team found a monster where he said there'd be one, and it fit the description he gave." Just thinking about that monster revealed an even larger picture. "In fact, that also proves the base was taken down in a monster attack. His story is true. No, why am I telling you this? You're so eager to think of Leonard as guilty that not even proof of his innocence will convince you otherwise."

That stunned Locke. It was about time his ignorant, prejudiced hostility was shoved in his face. No one was present to hear my outburst, or they wisely chose to stay clear and leave the courtyard. "He's ungrateful. He didn't even believe me when I told him what Vonius-" Locke stopped himself, trying to find the right word "-_tried _doing for him, despite the cost. The selfish bastard has no sense of gratitude."

I ran my hands against the nearby stone column, trying to get my emotions under control. We were both disconsolate from the Captain's death and would easily fuel each others' rage if we kept snapping back and forth. "Well Locke, you were hardly convincing, what with screaming at the top of your lungs like you did. If you can distrust him, he can surely distrust you. How's it feel to be on the receiving end?"

Locke was silent. I was finally getting through, though he would never admit it. He just took a deep breath. "Well, in any case, he's hiding something, something bad. Cyan noted that before I did." His voice had lowered as well.

Hearing Cyan's name reminded me that he and Locke had once formed a bonding. While I was off entranced in the Zozoan tower after morphing for the first time, Cyan and Locke must've shared their tales of sorrow. While Cyan's bond with Sabin was based upon battles and fighting proficiency, his bond with Locke was based on a sense of shared failing. Both men believed they'd failed to protect those close to them from the Empire wrath, and lived with regrets for a long time afterward. "Well just because Cyan says something doesn't mean it's the be-all, end-all. He can say whatever the hell he wants. It doesn't make him right. Not even Edgar or Sabin buys into Cyan's each and every word. If we took Cyan's advice on machines, well…you know where _that_ would lead."

Locke narrowed his eyes, which had dried some time ago. "I'm just saying that Leonard could be hiding something dark and negative. It's for your safety that I tell you this."

I could see where Locke was going, but he was failing to grasp an analogy. "Locke, you were once hiding something too, regrets over past failures. Bearing that in mind, you've no right to bash Leonard. You took an obsessive responsibility over Rachel's death and never looked toward the future until you found the Phoenix stone. At first you were hardly forthcoming with those past failures. If I stray from Leonard, I'll never know what he's hiding."

He just shook his head. "I don't think that's in your best interest-"

"I'LL decide that for myself." I didn't care if this latest outburst cut him off. "I'm a free woman. I'll do what I want, what I feel is right, and what I feel is compassionate. Nothing and no one, neither a village of orphans nor your controlling paranoia, will keep me from making my own choices."

Before Locke could respond I began walking out of the courtyard. "What's your justification for him slamming his elbow into my crotch? Realize thatI never _assaulted_ him." Locke called after me, but I was followed only by his voice. Outside the castle, I boarded the next train to Narshe and went home.

As I went to bed that night, I thought about our conversation. For all his delusions and bad habits of invading privacy in the name of security, Locke did have a point, though as I'd pointed out, he was hardly the best at presenting it. Leonard had to know that Vonius believed in him. Even though the Captain didn't save him at all, it was the thought that mattered. Maybe it would put Leonard at ease to know an accuser reversed their opinion and believed in him.

Locke also had a point about Leonard's 'nutcracker', though the action was understandable. But had he gone overboard? Locke was right. He never physically attacked Leonard. I had so many things to tell him.

But how would I do that? Where did Leonard live? Narshe was now bigger than it had ever been, both in population and geographic size. I hadn't seen him since he'd left the remains of our military/science team in the Shedairah mine. Where could I find him? I went to sleep with that question in my head.

Mog. I woke up and realized that Mog had known Leonard for quite some time. Maybe Mog could help me track Leonard down. I ate, got dressed, and boarded the train, stepping off in southwest Narshe.

The moogles were running about in their usual hyped-up state. I asked around for Mog but was mostly answered with 'Kupopio!' or 'Kupuwu!'. After searching for twenty minutes, I found a bunch who spoke enough human language to learn that Mog had gone into the deep reaches of the mountain caves. Umaro had been slacking off a great deal, much to Mog's annoyance, so the moogle was out searching for the yeti. Having hit a dead end, I left the cave and thought about my next option.

Well, if Locke could do it, so could I. But I'd do it for a much different reason.

_change in s & n_

"Mooooo!" The black and white dairy cow looked at me from over the fence around her pen. I was washing my hands after cleaning her stable, and took the long _moo_ as a thanks. At least _someone_ appreciated me.

I completed my work shift for the day and could now relax, though my current thoughts were hardly relaxing. I left the milking factory and headed towards the beach that lined southern Figaro, taking a seat on one of the benches.

The surroundings were quite a scene. It wasn't overcast, but some thick, puffy clouds had blocked out the sun, and more were lining the cerulean blue sky, a telltale sign that winter was coming. The lighthouse to the east wasn't running yet, and a few children were playing in the sand, splashing in the waves of low tide and chasing seagulls. The sounds of waves, children laughing, and bird calls were quite tranquil, and allowed me to sink into my thoughts, even if those thoughts were grim.

Were prejudice and knee-jerk animosities Doman customs? It appeared that way, if Cyan were to represent his people. But what else could you expect from a guy who was scared shitless from even the simplest machinery? Sarge, Sabin, and Edgar were indeed patient men. How the hell did they learn to deal with someone like Cyan on a daily basis?

For that matter, how could a smart woman like Celes tolerate someone like Locke? Like Cyan, he was also an obsessive protector. Did they only feel value when chained down with burdensome obligations towards others?

Even my helping in the Shedairah search didn't clear their biases. The Captain of my accuser dies in that mission and I get blamed. Did Cyan now want me jailed, even executed, for 'killing' Vonius? Why wouldn't he? He loathed me from the get-go, and Locke soon joined in.

Despite this, I still felt shitty for slamming my elbow into Locke's potato bag. Even just one strike to him made me feel disloyal and corrupted. I never wanted to, but after he cut down Terra for the 'heroine's calling', what other choice did I have? He was bashing his close friend for saving my life. Was he no less disloyal and corrupted for that? Even if my low blow was justified, it still didn't feel legitimate. Only because of his venomous outburst did I keep from hating myself. Yes, it did nothing to make me a good man in his eyes, but by that point, what would?

What of the other Returners? Wasn't Vonius a friend to all of them? Did they too despise me now?

Maybe I was generalizing. I was sure that Mog didn't. He'd known me for a few years, even if I hadn't remembered his name all that time. Moogles didn't hastily judge or over-generalize people. That was a human trait. And Sarge, despite his closeness to Cyan, knew me before the ass ever became a Figaroan General. He too would understand that you can never be guilty of saving your own life.

Finally there was one other person I could trust….and wanted to trust. That this person got lambasted by Locke for saving me…

"Leonard." A soft voice called my name, snapping me from my dark thoughts. It was a voice that invited trust.

Solipsism was at work yet again. I looked up and saw the person I'd just thought about take a seat next to me on the bench. She wore a smile, but as it didn't meet her eyes.

"Hello Terra," I said in a neutral tone. "Come to enjoy the scenery?" It was the best I could do. From her expression, I had no idea what she intended. She was friendly, though still unhappy.

She sighed. "Err…not exactly. I was looking for you."

"Well you found me," I replied, still unsure of her intent. "Speak your piece."

She took a deep breath and faced me with her emerald green eyes. "Leonard I saw—I mean I understand what happened to you down in the mining chamber." She stuttered as she spoke, obviously uncomfortable. "It was not your fault, the Captain's death. You saved your own life and never asked Vonius for anything. In the end, he died for nothing."

"I'm glad you see the truth." Indeed she was someone I could trust, regardless of her friends' opinions of me. There was nothing but sincerity in her voice. "You've got a head on your shoulders, unlike that treasure bandit."

"But," she went on again, with hesitation "there's something you should know. Even if you own him nothing, he really did try and save you."

"Oh? You mean Locke was telling…"

"Yes," she answered. "Before Vonius ran off to…_try_ and save you, he told our group that he believed in you, and that…" Terra couldn't bring herself to finish. She looked towards the ocean waves and buried her face in her hands. Maybe I heard her sniffle behind them. For some unknown reason I reached out, but then stopped myself.

Now I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. I was many things, a miner, a farm hand, a self-trained militant. But there were also many things I was not. Among those was a shrink. I'd never consoled a friend's emotional sensitivity. Terra was a friend, but and a friend of the opposite sex. The female psyche was a foreign language to me.

Half of me thought it was best to leave and give Terra some privacy. The other half was saying that wasn't her wish. Had she wanted privacy, she'd have gotten up and walked away herself. I just did what I could; sat on the bench and stared out at the ocean, neither wanting to leave her nor wanting to intrude. Adding to that was the confusing new revelation that Vonius Kades, one of my accusers, had fully rotated his opinion about my character, to the point where he _tried_ dying for me.

"Well, if it isn't the odd couple, or should I say, _non-couple._" I turned and met a grinning Setzer. "I didn't expect you'd both be here. I knew you worked here Leonard, but never though I'd find Terra here too. Oh well, I can update you both here."

"Update? On what?" I looked at the sliver-haired gambler, no longer toiling on whether to give Terra space or a pat on the shoulder.

"Those monsters discovered in that mining cave. The Professor's been doing some tests and experiments on the samples that were brought back, so he called a meeting at his lab to share the discoveries, and sent me out to find you. C'mon, the train's gonna depart any minute."

I stood up and stretched, then looked at Terra. Whatever emotional thoughts that had flooded her mind were gone now. "I guess we should be leaving," she said.

As we walked to the train station near the farm, Terra motioned for me. "I know how you feel about being around us. You said you were unwelcome down in the mines. But I'm not the only one who understands what happened. I know that Relm and Celes aren't blaming you, and Setzer's attitude didn't look hostile to me. Just know…"

"Well hurry up. The trains have schedules to keep and won't operate around yours. Hustle, you two," Setzer called to us from up ahead. We joined him and boarded the train. I silently thanked him. Without even knowing it, he'd saved me from an encounter with touchy-feely female emotions….

….this time.

_change in s_

Professor Cid Marquez was a scientific genius, though that was natural, having worked in the late Empire's magitek labs, albeit reluctantly. If anyone could dig up some dirt on the GST and its buddies, it was him.

The three of us got off the train and walked a few blocks to the labs in Figaro's northwest district. The other Returners had already gathered in the examination chamber. Relm gave me a friendly smile that I returned while looking away from Gau. Celes also said hi before turning to glare at Locke, with whom I also refused visual contact.

Edgar and Sabin greeted me too, but Cyan kept silent. I wasn't about to meet his eyes either. I didn't have to. I could feel his condescending, spiteful look. Were it possible, his gaze would've seared scars into my back. Like I didn't have enough burn scars on my flesh already.

"I'm glad you're all here," Cid announced. "We've learned a great deal about the samples recovered from the mission. I'll start off by saying that Specimen 1 was too decomposed for my team to extract any data." Specimen 1 was the collection of bone fragments and silvery hairs from the large four-legged creature. The remnants were placed in a dish on a table. "But we know much more about the other samples." He led us behind the examination table to a huge aquarium. It was filled with green liquid, formaldehyde to preserve the sample contained within. This sample was a long, thick rope-like object with a large spike on one end. The other end stopped short in a jagged stump. "This is Specimen 2."

I knew what it was even before seeing the pictures hanging next to the tank. Photographs of the GST's carcass, taken from all angles, were tacked to a bulletin board. The tank held one of its three tentacles that either Sabin or the deceased (but suddenly supportive) Vonius had sliced off. "Obviously, the full specimen was too large to bring back here in its entirety. Specimen 3 was buried under some fallen rubble and couldn't be recovered in full, but a few pieces of it were reachable, and much easier to transport given their smaller size."

Specimen 3 was soaking in a smaller tank the size of a beer keg. Inside was the bladed thread and clawed hand of another monster, the same monster that was nearly crushed under the falling rocks, the same monster that grabbed me as I ran past, and with its last ounce of strength held my ankle in a death grip. I'd almost cut off that hand completely to escape. The scientists had finished the job.

_Suck on that Locke. That's the same thing that held me down beneath the falling rocks. The proof is right in front of you._

Cid spread his arms and gestured at both specimens. "I could tell after just one look into their structure that these weren't mere feral creatures. There's something else about them, something that is totally beyond the realm of known science." The professor scratched his chin. "I haven't seen anything like this since I examined the espers in the magitek laboratory."

"What?" Celes blurted out. Her question spoke for all of us. Records showed that magic and all things related to it were gone from Sayitheren. "Granddad, that makes no sense. Espers left this world three years ago. How could they return?"

He shook his head. "I didn't mean it like that my dear. I wasn't saying these creatures were _exactly like_ the espers. I just mean that, in terms of having traits that science can't explain, the espers are the closest comparison. Of course these creatures are clearly something different. They don't share the magical traits pronounced in the espers, but they have characteristics mystical in nature."

Well that made a little bit of sense, though not being magical did nothing to explain what was mystical about them.

"So that would explain why the Aurabolt attacks did less damage than the arrow shots." Sabin spoke up on why his and Terra's blitz was ineffective. "The Aurabolt can damage even the toughest of armor, at least to some degree. Armored skin or not, for this thing to have totally immunity to the channeled spirit energy means something great about its abilities."

"I wondered as much," Relm shot out. "I thought about monsters evolving without magical means." She looked at Edgar. "And you said that I was reaching." The teen artist/ninja defended her theory while staring down the young Monarch.

Edgar looked stupefied. He really had to concede that her outlandish idea brought up at the dinner now had some credibility. "Well, back than I _thought_ it was a silly idea, but I can't doubt you any more." He gave an awkward smile as Relm stood tall and proud, happy to be heard.

Behind Edgar was another table with a dish on it. In this dish was some kind of rough, gray spike. It looked familiar, and I realized I'd seen ones like it during my escape from the mining base. Such spikes had been thrust into the skulls and vitals of slaughter victims. "What's that?" I pointed to the object.

Cid turned to face it. "That was easily removed from the hand of Specimen 4. This is clearly the best one we have. Though damaged greatly, there was plenty of it left intact to utilize, and it was small enough to bring here conventionally. Near the body of Specimen 2, the team saw bloody footprints leading into a hallway. They followed the trail into a smaller room and found this one."

He led us to another large tank, and what did I see?

How could I have forgotten our short and shitty conversation? There it was, just as I'd seen it in its last moments, save for a missing wrist spike. One leg and the tail were gone, the other leg was missing the foot, and some huge gashes were etched into its chest and stomach. Its skin was still that shade of green, even greener than the surrounding chemicals that preserved the tissue. And it was still smiling that taunting, toothy grin.

Locke's game of guilt trip had pissed me off even more than I'd first realized. How could I forget an encounter with this one? Damn treasure bandit and his temper.

I must have been cringing without even knowing it. "Leonard, are you okay?" Terra's voice caught my attention, and I tore my gaze away from the dino dickhead.

Time to spill the beans. "That one." I pointed at the last specimen without looking at it. "That thing talked to me, just after the giant turtle was killed."

Cid folded his arms. "You could have told us sooner."

I nodded in understanding. "Yes, that's true, and I would have done so had I not been so unjustly…" I turned from Cid, and for the first time since leaving the mining cave, stared Locke in the eye. "…put upon." We traded scowls for a second, before I felt the urge to stare at the deceased reptilian again. "After escaping the falling rocks, I saw that thing's shape in the dust. It was limping into the hallway, and I followed. Thinking it was leading me into a trap, I shot a control panel as the creature walked by it. When nothing came to investigate the explosion, I went in to get a closer look at the monster. I called it an animal, and in a fragmented sentence, it said it was no simple animal."

"Did it say anything else?" Edgar sounded anxious.

"It said 'some we talk'. It also said it had once lived in another form."

"Did it say what kind of form?" It was Terra who asked this time.

"No, and I didn't think to ask. I just asked a rather stupid question, though I got a very fascinating answer. I asked if used magic in transforming, and it said its group didn't use foreign essences."

Terra gazed at me, at the contained specimen, at the others. "Okay I can understand that part. Magic was created in another world and brought here by the statues. It was not native to this world." The others echoed her statement. I just shrugged, still claiming magical ignorance.

"Did it say anymore?" Edgar's voice was tense.

"Yeah, it called its group _chosen_, but didn't elaborate. By this time I realized this 'chosen' group was behind the attack. I asked why, and the thing just said it was out to slay inferior beings and build a place only for the 'chosen'. I asked about this group of chosen and…" I shuddered, unable to finish.

"And what?" Cid prodded.

"It told me to go fuck myself," I said with an expressionless voice. Edgar frowned and narrowed his eyes at the floor, Terra's mouth fell wide open, and Relm almost giggled.

"Is that all?" Cid's face bore an eager look.

I was about to go on when I stopped myself.

What had it actually said next? Did it really speak its own language? How was I able to determine that? I was in shock just from hearing it speak to me, and I'd already been knocked around after leaping off the GST's shell. The creature didn't even speak complete sentences in Sayitheren's standard language.

There was only one possibility for the monster's last words. "It just babbled mindlessly, then it died."

"Sounds like you had one hell of a conversation," Sabin mused.

"More like the conversation from hell," I added. "But it was informative... if only in a small way."

Edgar scratched his chin, obviously trying to fit puzzle pieces together, pieces that simply didn't match. "These were the only things you encountered in the base. They clearly pulled out and left only a few behind, to deal with survivors or search teams. It's now clear that a follow-up strike on Narshe was not part of their agenda."

"What's that mean?" Celes asked.

The King looked upwards before answering the reformed General. "It could mean lots of things, but it definitely means that Narshe was not their primary target. Maybe their goal was simply the neutralization of Shedairah, but why. There's no more Empire and no more cult of Kefka, but a new hostile entity is out there."

"So much for peace post-Kefka," Setzer grumbled. No one argued.

"I now believe the Shedairah assault was just a sub-plot in some greater plan that we know nothing about. Knowing that these 'chosen' use some non-magical utility answers nothing." Edgar paced around as he voiced his thoughts, looking up as if trying to see beyond the cloud of uncertainly that loomed above him, above us all. "What else is there about our world that even we do not know?"

_change in s & n_

"About fuckin' time Rhodes. What kept you?" The tall soldier yelled to his stocky companion, who climbed the ladder.

"We're running low Sharweck. We've been scarce on ammo for the last few days now." Rhodes joined Sharweck in crouching on the scaffolding that was built against the thick, high stone wall and opened up his pouch, dumping the contents between them.

Sharweck frowned. "That's it? Five clips of slugs? I could find twice that many in half the time you were gone, if not less."

Rhodes shook his head. "What did you expect? The House's request for a supply restock was turned down."

"Well it's better than nothing." Sharweck grabbed one of the ammo clips and slid it into his rifle. A nearby groan caught their attention. A soldier tumbled backwards and fell off the scaffolding, already dead before he hit the ground, a throwing knife in his neck.

The scaffolding was a few feet shorter than the wall, allowing the troops to stand and shoot or kneel and take cover. Both men got to their feet and observed the scene below them. "Look at this shit!" Sharweck snapped.

The sun was setting far to the west, filling the sky with a vibrant shade of carnation pink. Normally, it would've been a beautiful sight, but on this dusk it was totally ignored.

This had been brewing for awhile now. Albrook had been suffering from riots and coordinated attacks against political hotspots. At first, local military forces quelled the mayhem, but in a short time the attacks had escalated. More and more people became involved, and the violence factor had increased as well. Help from the outside was requested, and for a while that seemed to calm things down. But soon, the attacks began again, this time with even greater ferocity.

Now, the remains of the military and Elite Guard were huddled inside a large, walled-in district where Albrook's upper class and government figures resided, their numbers and arms stockpiles steadily depleting. It was a kill-or-be-killed battle between Albrook's army and lower-to-middle class. This walled-in community was the only place that hadn't fallen to the rioting plebes. The army was pretty much by itself now, as all communication to the outside world was cut off.

Rhodes and Sharweck observed the present. Albrooker men and women, their ages ranging from pre-teens to sixties, had mobbed the western gate of the private district. The youngest children and the elderly had already passed away, from starvation or uncured illness, while the House of Albrook feuded with its fellow city states Tzen and Maranda for control of the southern land. The only attention the government paid to its subjects was to enforce higher and higher taxes to support its war efforts. Now the remaining citizens, most of them broken financially, hungered for the blood of their oppressors. They were armed with everything from butcher knives, meat cleavers, blacksmith mallets, and farming sickles to an array of improvised weapons. Some of them appeared gaunt from sickness or starvation, but their fiery spirits were unbroken nonetheless. If their time was limited, they'd die armed and fighting.

"The rats are revolting," Sharweck scoffed, noting the commoners' latest move. A thick redwood tree had been chopped down and chained to a flatcar. The battering ram was wheeled up to the thick iron gates that led into the community, and robust men in homemade armor were pushing it forward, fuelled by their enthusiasm for battle. A loud bang sounded upon the impact. "Can you believe this shit Rhodes?"

Rhodes did not answer. He was not arrogant like his partner. He was almost remorseful. These people had been neglected and robbed of even the most basic life necessities. They wouldn't enjoy that. They'd want justice. They'd want the criminals who brought them anguish to be punished. That never happened.

Rhodes quivered at that thought. He was a soldier, a man sworn by oath to protect the people of his city-state against cruelty and suffering, to indiscriminately protect the innocent, not to selectively protect the highest bidder. But he'd followed the orders of his superiors without question. He'd accepted payment from high-ranking government and military personnel to stay on the wealthiest side and only take actions beneficial to the nobles and the military. He helped impose the government's migration ban that forbid Albrookers to leave the city-state, lest taxpayers and funds for warfare vanish. He helped trap these people and bleed them dry. Now they had nothing to lose but their lives, which for some would end in a short matter of time anyway.

The crude but effective battering ram was pulled back and thrust forward again, causing the gates to bend inwards. As its wielders readied another push, a large man with a huge broadsword rushed to the gate. Guards massed on the other side to take out the rammers. The large man shoved his sword through a gap between gate bars, with enough force to split a guard's head down to the eyebrows. Another guard rushed to the gate and shoved a short sword into the attacker's ribcage. He responded by dropping the large sword, pulling a knife, and slashing the second guard's wrist up to the elbow. A crossbow bolt entered the rioter's front side, but he still held the guard's slashed arm, pulling him up close and slitting his throat. When the second guard fell dead, another one thrust a pike into the massive attacker's gut. One more pike speared the assailant in his open mouth. His body was tossed aside by his peers before they rammed the gate again, sending the pike men backwards.

Rhodes was so lost in his thoughts that he barely heard Sharweck's voice. The taller man grabbed his arm and pulled him down. An arrow sailed over Rhodes's head. Sharweck aimed his rifle and emptied a slug into the chest of the shooter, a woman in her thirties wielding a crossbow.

As muscled rioters replaced their fallen comrades at the battering ram, the other rioters upped their attacks. Chunks of brick and masonry were now flying through the air. A hurled sandbag shattered the skull of one guard. Rhodes gasped as he saw a different projectile. A bottle with a burning piece of cloth hanging from its neck shattered against the support of an improvised wooden tower. A spray of fire engulfed the support pole and spread to the others. The ladder to the balcony at the top burned next, trapping the several men who'd gathered within. The structure moaned before leaning backwards into the elite neighborhood. Those inside fell from the teetering structure and died upon hitting the pavement below.

Sharweck dove to the side to evade more arrows. Before he could return fire, a sack of bricks was catapulted at his position. It missed him, but slammed into the scaffolding to his side, breaking apart the wooden walkway and leaving a mass of splinters along the rough, shattered edge. He was about to rejoin Rhodes when another flaming bottle appeared between them. It too stuck the wooden platform head on. Another fire burned, this one separating the two men. Sharweck's chunk of walkway began to collapse, weakened from the bricks' impact and the fire.

The taller soldier looked around. A dead man was at his feet, his head crushed by fallen timber. This dead man held a tall shield. It was bulky and cumbersome, but would provide ample protection for that crucial moment.

Sharweck grabbed the shield and leapt atop the thick wall as the scaffold segment gave way, holding the shield to face the army of commoners. Arrows and rocks bounced off as he ran to his partner. Then, a well-aimed arrow found its way between the bottom of the shield and the wall. It embedded itself just above Sharweck's ankle.

He growled as it struck and cursed as he swayed. Rhodes tried to grab him, but Sharweck lost his balance faster than his partner could react. Sharweck toppled off the wall, falling a dozen or more feet to the ground below.

He landed on his shield, wounded but alive. But he fell outside the wall, open to the rioters. The pitchfork shoved into his back and the sledgehammer swung into his skull accomplished what the fall did not.

Seeing his longtime partner's mortality was hardly upsetting to Rhodes. He figured it was inevitable. The stocky trooper looked around, at the bodies of his comrades, at the battering ram slamming into the distorted gate, at the resentful legions of men and women below. He wondered how the rioting commoners, who started as disorganized and uncoordinated, learned to act as a unit and pin the armed forces into a private district. Had they found leadership at this point?

He didn't know, and really didn't care to find out. He sent one last look at the ravenous crowd. Violent as they were, they were not the criminals in this affair. The criminals were next to him, trying to quell the forces beyond, and behind him, hiding in their villas, no longer thinking they were invincible. This was a lost cause. The military wasn't fighting a battle, they were just holding out, delaying the unavoidable.

Rhodes knelt down behind the wall, confused, disillusioned, and self-hating. He removed his equipment, his armor, sheathed sword, hand-axe, crossbow, remaining bolts, and the rifle clips Sharweck had left, and tossed them out into the crowd, the very people who'd trusted him with their safety, the very people he'd let down. They deserved support. He deserved something else.

And with that thought, he climbed onto the wall and spread his arms and legs out wide. He got his desired results a second later, when an arrow pierced his naval. He fell to his knees, futilely apologized to those he was no longer fighting, and waited for release. A second arrow entered his forehead, and he closed his eyes. Rhodes was freed of his burden as his lifeless body fell sideways and lay atop the wall.

More chunks of stone and flaming bottles were flying through the air now, and a leading military commander realized the armed forces were losing ground. He sent word to bring out more advanced weaponry, and his scout ran off searching for those who could use it. Though units were in moderate supply, pilots who could operate them were scarce. The scout found only two.

Soon, the roar of propellers could be heard, and in moments a pair of old sky armors could be seen above, making their way towards the unruly mob. These units had been kept throughout the great collapse, even by regions that hadn't necessarily been Imperial loyalists, and had been properly maintained. They'd been fitted with a new arsenal too.

The first armor floated over the massive crowd, who were swift to get out from beneath it, as if they'd rehearsed such action before. Such a maneuver wouldn't save them from its new weaponry though. A door on its bottom side opened, and an oblong-shaped canister was unloaded. It did not detonate upon impact, as it wasn't an incendiary device.

It was a 'beehive', as some in the army called it. There was no better nickname for such a weapon. Without warning, the canister burst open, and hundreds of spiked ball bearings were fired in all directions, like a full volley of arrowheads fired at many angles.

Rioters of all ages were taken down by the small but lethal projectiles. Only those with armor or shields had avoided death. Unarmored rioters started to pull back, letting their more-protected peers step up.

Now the other sky armor unit could attack. Armored mobs tried shooting it down, aiming for its fuel tank and engines. It opened its cannon door. No canister was discharged.

Instead, a large, yellow-green cloud of transparent gas sank to the ground, blanketing a radius of several yards. Against this weapon, armor was useless. Rioters doubled over, coughing up and chocking on their own blood as they inhaled chemical toxins. This weapon wasn't made in any colony of the former Empire. This deadly piece of artillery was an older model of bio blaster, made in and imported from Figaro.

For a moment, it looked like the despairing military might have a chance at winning. Beehives and green clouds ended more lives as the crowd scampered to get away from the airborne machines.

And with no one alive underneath the sky armors, there was no better opportunity.

A strange blurry object wound its way over to the beehive armor, slamming into the propellers that kept it afloat. The spinning blades suddenly twisted and stopped, and the armor plummeted to the ground, exploding on impact.

As the other pilot questioned the nature of such a weapon and how simple rioters had gotten hold it, he noticed too late what was heading towards him. Somehow, without the use of large animals or machines, an entire birch tree had been uprooted and flung into the air. The base of its trunk hit the armor's engine, and the unit exploded in midair. Burning shrapnel fell to the bloodied ground amidst the bio blaster's kills.

The rioters' number had decreased, but their spirits were still unhindered. Any small chance of the army's victory was gone now. Large rioters took up the battering ram again as their smaller counterparts provided cover fire, proving again this was more than just a group of rioters. There were some trained individuals in this crowd.

Finally, the gates broke open with one last pounding. Guards and soldiers drew melee arms in preparation for hand-to-hand combat with the mob that was pouring through the open gates. The raging plebes overpowered the guards at the entrance, charged into the walled district, and scattered throughout its streets. Amongst them, some exotic breed of fully armed soldiers could be found.

As the last of the militants rushed into the district, one man paced about, eyeing the scene of karma before him. Though he carried himself with an aura of stone cold grimness, he smiled with great satisfaction.

"High Shenthaxa Kagasjori!" A young voice called out, drawing the man's attention. He turned his eyes toward the person, a sixteen-year-old girl.

"Ruqojjen," he said with a less morbid smile. "Ruqojjen Kagasjori. You've known me for some years now Ajalni. You know we were on a first name basis."

Ajalni smiled. "Right, I just didn't expect you'd be joining us here once we broke through, and I'm used to hearing the locals address you in a business-like manner. But, it's finally happening."

The High Shenthaxa returned the teenager's grin and turned back to the opened gate. "What say we get in there and do our part? The ones who surrender you can take alive, but those who forcefully resist or beg for mercy…"

"I know the rhetoric." Ajalni nodded and ran inside, Ruqojjen following at a more observational pace.

He took in the sights of troopers and guards falling to those they once deemed inferior. As he rounded a corner, two soldiers with rifles confronted and aimed their weapons at him. They were fast, but not fast enough for Ruqojjen. They did not see him grab their rifle barrels and readjust their aim to his liking. They still thought they were aiming at him, until they blew each others' faces off. He looked down and spat upon the two casualties before moving further into the fray.

An Albrooker swordsman fell to the ground with a neck wound. The spinning, Y-shaped throwing weapon that took his life returned to the hand of its wielder, a heavyset man in a chain mail coat with a shaved head, who clutched an identical weapon in his other hand. Before him, a door atop some steps opened and an aged, highly decorated guard carrying a hefty pole arm appeared, a Guard Captain who was master of the staff and the pike. He locked eyes with the intruder, and rushed down the stairs.

The militant threw one of his three-bladed weapons at the senior guard, who swung his pole into the weapon and sent it spinning back, right into the thrower's thigh. He growled from the hit as the guard charged, swinging his pole arm with the speed of a sky armor's propeller. He swung at the injured militant's chain mail and knocked him over, landing several more blows before the man hit the ground. Broken bits of chain were tossed left and right before the man landed, at which point an area of his chest was exposed. The guard lifted his weapon and plunged the bladed tip into the attacker's chest. The militant coughed up blood and convulsed once before going limp.

A scream got the Guard Captain's attention. He saw a noble woman collapse as a gunshot rang out, a hole in the back of her head showing the slug had found its mark. The guard cursed and faced the woman's executioner, a man with a long braid who wore plate mail and a steel mask carrying a rifle. This second intruding militant aimed his weapon at the guard, who was already swinging his pole before the next shot sounded.

A _plink_ was heard against the guard's pole, and a dented piece of metal rolled to a stop at the shooter's feet. With super-human reflexes, the mysterious rifleman cocked the bolt of his weapon to ready another shot, and fired at the advancing guard. Another _plink_ was heard, and a spurt of blood burst from the shooter's knee. He fell into a crouch, slid the bolt, and aimed again, but now the guard was upon him. The Captain swung his staff at an exposed area, the militant's uncovered neck. Blood gushed from the shooter's open jugular onto the cobblestone walkway, with the militant collapsing into the blood pool right after.

Anyone who could take out two deadly soldiers with that little effort would be a problem. This Guard Captain had to be dealt with now. "Yo, tough guy!" Ruqojjen called out to his new opponent. "Try fucking with _me!_"

The Guard Captain and the High Shenthaxa made eye contact, and Ruqojjen knew two things from studying his opponent's face.

He knew that this Guard Captain would fight to the death to protect the nobility of Albrook from harm.

He also knew this guard would blindly stand up for criminal filth who deserved the complete opposite. Only a fool would protect such people. Ignorance would not be tolerated.

The guard charged Ruqojjen and swung his pole with blinding speed. However, he hit nothing but air. "Too slow old man," Ruqojjen said mockingly from behind the guard, who turned to charge him with weapon spinning once again.

Fast as he was, the High Shenthaxa was even faster. Suddenly, the Guard Captain felt his staff come to a halt. His wrist was grasped by the Shenthaxa. Before the Captain could react, Ruqojjen leapt into the air and brought both the guard's arms down, bringing his knees up into the guard's elbows.

The guard shouted as both his arms were broken simultaneously. His pole clanked to the ground. Ruqojjen grabbed the defeated Captain's face tightly. "Just defending the ones you love? Just doing your job? Both those justifications are as clichéd as they are pathetic," he snarled at the cringing guard. He bent the Captain forward with one hand and picked up the man's staff with the other. The weapon of the guard's life would now be the tool of his death. "Ignorant shit." Ruqojjen gave the guard some parting words before shoving the staff down through the top of the man's head, until the tip exited through the man's groin.

The Shenthaxa made his way further into the district. He was now before the palace of Lord Sireck and Lady Edrina. The bodies of Albrooker guards and soldiers continued piling up, and a few nobles were now among the dead and dying. Many had fled as their upscale homes were lit ablaze, surviving the infernos only to meet a grisly end in the streets. A nobleman, crawling after being shot in the foot, screamed in horror as he watched his wife get stabbed to death. His own torture was cut short an instant later when a broad axe came down and split his skull.

Ruqojjen dashed across the palace lawn and entered the tall, elegant structure that symbolized Albrook's dying leadership. More elite guards were inside, and they too met their end, either by the militants or the Shenthaxa, who steadily ascended to the palace's upper levels, looking for a few specific targets.

He found one near the top. Lord Sireck had already been decapitated, his severed head pinned to the wall with daggers, like the trophy head from an animal. With one less target to seek out, he climbed higher.

At last, he reached the top level of the palace. As bloodthirsty militants made fools of the guards in the upper hallways, Ruqojjen entered a room, and found her. Lady Edrina was huddled into a corner, cowering, whimpering, and begging for her life. Ruqojjen was receptive to this behavior. He understood it well, and knew what it meant.

Manipulation.

Those who begged for mercy only did so for another chance to scheme. The more pitiful a display of groveling, the more manipulative the beggar. Lady Edrina had been a schemer ever since she became a head of state. She'd get no more chances. Ruqojjen charged her, and administered the death penalty by slamming his knee into her face, driving her nose bone into her brain and killing her.

"MOTHER!" cried a voice filled with terror and hate. Ruqojjen turned from the dead noblewoman to this new individual, a young man who clutched a sword.

"Well hello there," Ruqojjen greeted the man sarcastically. "You must be Sireck and Edrina's son. Glad to meet you."

"You killed…"

"A fucking idiot of the most devious nature," Ruqojjen prided his latest effort, cutting the noble son off. "She was vile, ignorant, pampered, the personification of excrement."

"I—I'll…"

"Get revenge?" The Shenthaxa cut the man off again. "What is revenge? Just a reaction, typically sought for a worthless cause. You seek to avenge your mother's death, a person who deserved to die. That's almost funny."

The noble son ignored Ruqojjen's logic. Instead, he raised his sword, let out a battle yell, and charged, fighting for a worthless cause until the end.

He charged his mother's executioner, but the Shenthaxa suddenly vanished. The young man felt a hand grab his wrist and twist it. He dropped his sword as his wrist was dislocated. He was then thrown to the side, and found himself plummeting through a large open window. He barely managed to grab hold of the window sill with his good hand as he dangled outside. He tried lifting himself with one hand before looking up. "NO!" he screamed, but it was too late. The High Shenthaxa had already taken the small kerosene lamp from the nearby bookshelf and dropped it upon the window sill.

It broke apart on the stone, spilling flaming oil over the young noble's good hand. He screamed as his flesh seared and broke open, and continued screaming for a few seconds and a few hundred vertical feet downward, until his body slammed onto the cobblestone far beneath.

From the high window, Ruqojjen observed the goings on below. The fighting had ceased now. Soldiers, guards, and nobles who were still alive had given up, surrendering to the enigmatic army. It was over, and the House had lost. Ruqojjen saw a bottle of Albrooker wine on the bookshelf and picked it up, popping the cork and taking a long, celebratory drink.

It was an act of desecration, to pillage goods from the dwelling of those you had just killed. Ruqojjen Kagasjori knew this.

That was exactly why he did it. Those within the House of Albrook deserved no respect, either in life or death.

"And their pampered little world comes crashing down. Their spoils are now our spoils." Ajalni appeared in the doorway, wiped blood from her hands with a tapestry nearby, and joined Ruqojjen.

The High Shenthaxa acknowledged his younger companion. "And with this victory, we can actually establish something. The now leaderless Albrook has use. Yes, their gift of support earlier made things very inconvenient, but we've won just the same."

Ajalni smiled at that. "Will the Council shit their panties over this?"

Ruqojjen turned his eyes to hers after taking another drink. "Doubtful. Any sparse trade with Albrook ended with the Imperial occupation, and even rarer smuggling ended with the great collapse. Plus, you know the Council's mindset; what happens outside Jrysthovuh doesn't concern Jrysthovuh."

The teenager nodded. "But these are _your _actions, and both you and the Honored Shamaness have been number one on the Council's shit list for quite some time now."

"Perceptive for your age, as usual," Ruqojjen commented. "Yes, caution is needed. The wrong move at the wrong time could send Jrysthovuh into a civil war, and we can't fight all our enemies at once right now. But in time we can show those willing to listen that the Council is full of shit, and that their 'keepers of heritage' moniker is more like keepers of oppression. We'll make their hypocrisy be the death of them, and other foes."

"Yeah, those toothless old hermits who can't even digest a solid meal are hardly what they claim to be. Their outdated methods of being 'in touch' with the Divine's equilibrium have been anything but, and their ideas of cultural preservation will lead to cultural extinction."

"Yes. Our time to act is now. The alien virus called 'magic' had been extinguished sooner than even we could've imagined, while our numbers and our influence have increased greatly." Ruqojjen gestured outside at the number of militants below.

"Just like the potency of our…you know," Ajalni offered.

"Smart again, as usual, displaying the kind of intelligence the Council would forbid in a person your age." Ruqojjen smiled and gave Ajalni a pat on the back. "And to think they believe themselves so wise. To truly understand something as vast and complex as the Divine and its workings, you must have your eyes open, and see it from many sides. The Council and all its supporters do not. Yes, the Divine is resilient, having survived two destructive events. But even with its repairing the visual damage, it still groans and suffers in pain. Its stamina is finite."

The two continued looking out the window and down at the fallen political district. "I think now's a good time to find the high-rankers. Baokiydu, Dyal'xern, Qaurjaeda, Sdalsyra, and your number one fan Chithagu." Ruqojjen had picked up the recent habit of naming his deadliest to the newly-militarized plebes. He then pointed at a small table next to the bookshelf. "I think one of your favorites is in that candy dish, those chocolate covered walnuts."

Ajalni turned and saw that he was right. A white china bowl held several such candy pieces within. It was a few feet away, but the teenage girl didn't walk over to it. Instead, she simply opened her mouth.

A long tongue, its tip bearing three hooked spikes, shot out from between the girl's lips and extended the complete distance to the bowl, its clawed end grabbing one of the chocolates before sliding back into her mouth.


	11. The Pieces Move

**Chapter 11: The Pieces Move**

"And just hold the pose for a tad more," Relm instructed. I could hear her pencil stroking the sketchbook pages as I kept my position, lying on my back looking up at the dojo ceiling. "Okay, you can look now," she stated with excitement. I sat up and gazed upon her latest masterpiece.

I was impressed. It was an uncanny likeness of me snoozing. "How much effort did that one take?" I asked.

She laughed. "Less than most of the others. Drawing is the easy part. Getting a willing subject is the challenge. This one was easy. It's a sign you're only a Returner associate and not a full-fledged Returner Leonard. Any picture requests of my friends were often met with horror and 'oh-no's' rather than curiosity. You're definitely a whole different breed."

Met with horror? Why, when Relm possessed such amazing artistry? The babbling of the pale green dinosaur man wasn't the only thing on Sayitheren that didn't make sense.

Relm pulled a canister of 'Bow-wow Biscuits' out of her knapsack and tossed one to Interceptor, the brown and black Doberman curled up at her feet. She told me all about him, that he'd been her father's attack dog and that he was friendly with her and hostile toward anyone else. He growled at me more than once. Relm's dog was as anti-social as her father. Yet the youth academy generously allowed her to keep him on the grounds in exchange for Relm doing some housekeeping when needed.

Interceptor lifted his snout and growled again, though not at me. He looked up at the dojo's main entrance, where a few knocks came from outside the door. Relm told him to be quite as she got up. After looking through the door's peephole, she opened it. "Oh…hey there," she said as the person entered.

He was a tall man in an armored chest plate and masked helmet, with a cape of royal purple. "Another of your close friends?" I asked from across the room.

"No, just a….casual acquaintance." She regarded the new guest.

"Sabin?" asked the man in a voice muffled by his headgear.

Relm blinked. "I think he's in the middle of something, but I'll go check." She turned and jogged toward the enclosed stairs to the second floor of the dojo, where Sabin and Terra were doing some concentration practice.

They must've been finished with it, or Relm wouldn't have called out like she did. "Sabin, you have a visitor."

The shirtless blitz master came down the stairwell and patted Relm on the head. "Ah, my unofficial receptionist." Terra came down a second later in her black tank top and skirt. As Sabin wiped his face with a towel he, regarded the strange visitor. "Hey Ziegfried. Welcome to my world. What brings you here?"

"I'm looking for Shadow," he answered in a gruff voice. "I was supposed to train with him, but he's been missing for over a week now."

Sabin scratched his head. "Clyde? No, to the best of my knowledge, he's never even been here."

Terra exchanged a glance with Sabin and bit her lip. "Odd that he'd just disappear from Dragon's Neck like that. I always thought he'd feel at home there."

"There's more," Ziegfried spoke up. "Ultros and Chupon are missing too. Thomun, the arena's owner, is furious."

"That stupid octopus and his inarticulate sidekick are gone too? Is there something up that would prompt them all to split?" Relm asked. I just sat on the bench and listened passively.

Ziegfried looked at the Returner trio. "Some weird guy showed up after the Borras battle. He asked me if I was interested in helping out some 'grand revolution', though he didn't elaborate. I said it wasn't my fight, and we parted ways."

Terra looked at Relm and Sabin. "Do you think they left for that?"

"No," Sabin said with a laugh. "Fighting in a revolution? Do Ultros and Chupon have the competence for that? I think not. And that kind of stuff is anything but up Clyde's alley. Remember, he's given up the merc trade."

"I see." Ziegfried nodded before leaving.

"Have a nice day," Sabin called after him, but didn't get a reply. He then walked to the fridge in the corner and grabbed a bottle of water. "I think we can call it a day now." He handed another bottle to Terra.

As she began drinking, the dojo's door swung open again. This time it was Edgar who walked in. "What was he doing here? As usual, Ziegfried gave me the cold shoulder, but it's unusual that he'd come here," the King asked his brother.

"Shadow's missing from the Coliseum, along with Ultros and Chupon. That, and some weirdo asked Ziegfried if he'd be interested in joining some 'revolution'."

Edgar chuckled. "Shadow goes AWOL and some weird guy visits the arena with some grand proposal? What's so strange about those? They both happen all the time."

Sabin shrugged "Beats the hell out of me. So what brings you here? You're obviously not looking for Shadow."

"I just wanted to give you a heads up. Cid's still working with those specimens recovered from Shedairah, and I'm on my way to check up on him."

"I'll join you since Gau's not training this evening." Sabin grabbed his tight, sweat-stained shirt off a chair and pulled it on.

"I'm going back the academy." Relm pulled on her backpack. "Interceptor, come," she commanded. The dog got up and followed her out as she said good-bye. The rest of us left the training hall and the brothers went off to Cid's lab. That left me and Terra.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Back to Narshe. Yourself?"

"Same, but I'd like to talk to you."

"Okay, the train ride will allow time for that," I agreed with a smile. How could I refuse a one-on-one with Terra Branford? I was enjoying her company more and more.

We boarded and the train began its route to Narshe. I stared out the window until Terra got my attention with a voice that sounded a little firmer than usual. "Leonard?" I met her grass-colored eyes. Her expression was firm as well. "Did you really have to slam your elbow into Locke's groin?"

There it was. I'd been wondering if this topic would come up the last time we spoke. I was happy to get it over with. If she expected defensiveness, she wouldn't get it. "Well, don't think that I liked doing it. I tried restraining myself. But after he told you to regret your heroine's calling, that was the last draw."

Terra's eyes didn't leave mine. "I spoke with him after Vonius's wake. He knows now that his accusations against you are groundless. But they were only words. He never attacked you like you did him. I'm not following his guilt trip tactic here, but that is a fact you should know."

Terra was not to taking sides with Locke or me. She was far more diplomatic. "Okay. I realize that. And even if he was out of line, I still felt like shit for what I did. But I still don't trust him, and he doesn't like me."

Terra averted her eyes. "I'll admit he's got some bad habits. His protectiveness can easily become invasive and cause problems where they wouldn't be otherwise. But he's still my friend." She looked back at me again. "He was the Returner who introduced me to the Edgar and the rest of the bunch, and was among the first friends I ever had." She lowered her voice. "You should apologize to Locke for your nutcracker, if you feel that shitty about having done it."

She had a point, and I wasn't about to argue with it. But I had concern of my own. "Okay, that's in order, but don't you think he owes me one too? If he makes up for his end, I'll apologize."

The train got to Narshe shortly afterwards. As it stopped at the platform in the southwestern district, the train's loudspeaker cracked to life. "Ladies and gentlemen, there appears to be some difficulty ahead. A large tree has fallen across the tracks. Maintenance crews are working on removing it as we speak, but it will take at least half an hour before everything is cleaned up. We are sorry for the inconvenience, but this train will be grounded at this platform until the tracks are cleared."

"It looks like we're not going anywhere for a while unless we leave this train car." Terra stood up. "Of course, the moogles caves are close by and I'm up for paying Mog a visit. Maybe he's found Umaro. The Yeti's been lazy, I hear."

We got up and walked to the stairs leading off the platform. "We have the opportunity to talk some more," I said half jokingly, causing Terra to smile again.

The walk to the caves wasn't far. Just a stroll through some suburban avenues was all it took to reach the mountain. We entered and looked around, but saw none of the small, furry creatures anywhere. I was about to voice my confusion when Terra put her finger to her lips. "Hear that?" she said in a whisper.

"What?" I didn't hear anything.

"There." She pointed her index finger down a curving hallway. I looked, and began to hear something too. It sounded fast and high-pitched, as though a moogle were strung out on dope. Curious, we both walked in that direction, with the chirping getting louder every step of the way. As we got closer, we could hear it stop every so often, with a low moan filling the silence. At a point where the hallway opened into a larger chamber, we could finally observe the source of the noises.

"Son of a bitch. Look at that." I almost laughed. Terra and I peeked into the vast room where a scene of almost comedic proportions was unfolding.

"K-k-kuuuuu-p' I told you, the tools don't go in the crate, they go in the shed!"

"B-b-b-boss, dey not fit der. I try put dem where der space…"

"What the hell would you know about storage space? We put stuff in our specified areas. And what took you so long to clean up anyway you big hairy dumbass? We don't have the time to play games when the Mining Guild has a schedule to keep."

"Place big, place take time to…"

"Kuu….we aren't made of time."

I'd never seen Mog so pissed before. It would've been hilarious were it not disturbing. Moogles weren't known for hair-trigger tempers. Yet here he was, chewing out some creature three times his height and six times his weight. He hollered and Umaro whined. Mog seemed to be overdoing it, cutting off the Yeti's attempts to answer questions and ask his own logical ones. I actually felt sorry for the Yeti. But he was not the brains. Mog was, and I was sure Mog had good reason to be upset at the Yeti's negligence. This was not our argument. Terra and I would not take sides in it.

"K'po! Get in there and shut up. You're not getting any treats today."

"Umaro try best-"

"No you didn't you lazy fat ass. Maybe I really need to hold your hand through these chores. Now get in there and work." An aggravated Mog practically dragged a brow-beaten Umaro into a back hallway across the chamber, but not before stopping at its entrance to shout once more. "Ku-pooh! And for the last time Umaro, clean up your goddamn feces!"

"Does that answer your question?" I asked when the two were out of sight.

Terra frowned. "Better than I could have imagined. I guess it's no wonder the others are out."

"Yeah, the wrath of a moogle's quite upsetting to watch, especially when it's focused upon a half-ton yeti." I voiced my agreement.

We headed back to the train, and in a few moments it could move again. We were approaching central Narshe. "I think tomorrow after your work shift is a good time for the make up. I hope to see you at Figaro Castle's entry hall then. I've already told Locke to be there, and asked Celes to drag him to the place if need be." Terra's voice wasn't firm now, but I could tell she was making more than just a request.

"Okay. It's great that you've got this all planned out. I hope to see you and him there as well." By now, either of us could've said 'don't disappoint.'

"Then see you tomorrow." The train stopped as Terra spoke. She waved to me before walking out to the platform. I watched her until she vanished amidst the crowd of evening commuters.

How happy I was that she merely chose to negotiate rather than display another bout of emotion. At least negotiating was something I could understand. My lack of knowledge on the female gender definitely set me apart from those around me. I had so little interaction with the fairer sex. By my count it had been nearly a decade since my sister had run away, and I hadn't heard from her since. And don't get me started on my mother, that fucking mouse.

Yet my situation changed the day I almost died in the forest from the poisoning. There were things out there just waiting for me to discover them. The real question was just how much was out there.

_change in s_

I leaned against the wall of the Castle's chamber, restlessly staring up at the swirly fresco on the ceiling. The castle staff walked to and fro, going about their numerous routines. As my eyes followed some technicians carrying a huge cart of machinery ducts and gears out the front entrance, a pair of women appeared in the doorway once the cart was pushed outside. They both had long hair, one blonde and the other green. Behind them was a man.

"Over here," I called out and got their attention. As they walked over, I forced my eyes to stay on Locke rather than away from him. His own eyes met mine, and fixed themselves upon me in a similar fashion.

All three of them approached me, and Terra was the first to speak. "I knew you wouldn't let me down." She stated it like she'd known me for years, not a simple matter of weeks. Why'd she connect with me so much, so quickly? Her defending me from that train station screamer was no random decision. There was something fascinating about Terra Branford, and it was more than just the color with which she dyed her hair.

Celes folded her arms and raised an eyebrow at her love interest. "Since you threw out the accusation, you go first."

With the two young women eyeing him, Locke wiped his brow and faced me. "Leonard, I really fucked more than once. Fucking with you during your work break was uncalled for by itself, but I went overboard with accusing you of the Captain's death and screaming at you to apologize for something that was never your fault. You're right. The science team found a monster that fit your description in the rock pile. I understand now that you truly were in danger as the monster held you down, that you saved yourself just in time, and that Vonius paid that highest price for something that was free all along. I have no justification for accusing you, and your story of a super monster attack was true the whole time." He finished and extended his hand.

Both women turned their eyes to me, as if quietly saying 'your turn'. "Okay, than I have no justification for busting your balls. I never even wanted to do it in the first place." I took his hand. Celes smiled and wrapped her arm around Locke's shoulder. Terra raised her hand toward me as if to do the same, but stopped. It didn't surprise me. Locke and Celes were lovers, Terra and I were not.

"Well hello all. Were you waiting to accompany us?" We turned to the new voice. Edgar came walking up in his blue tunic, gold plate armor, and sky blue overcoat.

"No," Celes answered. "We didn't know you were coming here."

The King pointed northeast. "I'm on the way to Narshe. It's time I personally informed Governor Hoff about our findings on the monsters that attacked the base." I looked over Edgar's shoulder and noticed Cyan walking up, dressed in his usual dark blue army fatigues and a plate mail much like Edgar's. I was still reluctant to look into the aged Doman's eyes. "The train will be leaving soon. Care to join us?" Edgar's question was directed at me as well as his friends. We all agreed.

We rode into central Narshe, near the downtown sector. Cyan and Edgar were given a free ride in a carriage, and even requested one for the rest of us. We rode north, then a little bit west, to Narshe's seat of government, aptly named The Narshean Chamber of Office. I'd never been inside this place before, though I'd passed it on numerous occasions. It was a large building of solid, snow-white stucco situated in a walled perimeter. Fountains, statutes, and gardens decorated its lawn. We walked along a path that led to its east entrance. Sentries at the solid doors bowed to Edgar and Cyan as they entered. Terra, Locke and Celes were given simpler greetings. As I got close a guard raised his hand and questioned Edgar. "He's with us," Edgar informed him. The guard resumed his position and let me pass.

A long corridor with a high, arched ceiling was immediately inside the doors. Tables with vases of flowers lined both sides, some with pictures hanging above them. Closed doors were also present along the walls, their wood not quite as dark as the brown marble floor. Edgar and Cyan led the way to a broad stairwell covered with a dark red carpet. Down the second-floor hall we ascended another stairwell, this one with a gold carpet. At last the King and the General stopped at a large door with ornate carvings in a wider section of the hallway. A woman was at the nearby desk. "Good day Kind Edgar and General Garamonde. If you're here to see the Governor, he's having a board meeting right now. It is urgent?"

"No," Edgar replied "just an update on the creatures that destroyed the Shedairah complex. We could leave a message."

The woman nodded. "Perhaps it'd be best if you told someone else of office." Clearly this woman was simply a receptionist or the like. She did not speak of herself.

"Okay, I'll see if I can track down Senator Wexler. Thank you my lady." Edgar nodded as the woman bowed. I recalled the name Wexler for some reason, but didn't know why. It was a name I'd not heard in a long time. I didn't connect it with anything bad though, as I recalled the name was not associated with Narshe's government.

A few more hallways led us to the office of this Senator Wexler. A guard outside greeted the Returners of royal and military occupations and generously unlocked the door. "I'll go get him."

As we entered the new office, a question popped into my head. "I understand why you and Cyan are allowed passage so easily, but why the rest of us? Does being Returners or their associates give you an all-access pass?"

"That's part of it," Edgar said as he leaned against the wall near the door, Cyan next to him. "But we're also close friends with this man. He was our Narshean contact before the great collapse, though given Narshe's reluctance to side with the Returners, our friendship was kept a secret. Even now it still remains that way, for such a reveal could set off feelings of personal biases within the Office. I don't play favorites with Narshean officials, but the impression that I do might come out if I exposed our friendship."

"You certainly cover all the angles Edgar."

The King flaunted his ego. "That comes with the being a K-I-N-G."

Terra looked at a cabinet filled with various articles of china. Locke leaned against the wall next to her and let Celes lean back against him. I noticed a few newspaper clippings on a wooden rack. Their front pages talked about the Shedairah attack and its aftereffects.

I heard the door open and shut behind me. "Ah, Edgar and Cyan, it's a pleasure to have you here." This new voice was that of the Senator, for the two men greeted him with that title. The voice also sounded a bit familiar to me. Well, some people have voices that sound alike. The man addressed the couple and Terra next. "The two lovebirds haven't changed much, and how are you doing Terra?" I just kept reading the newspaper headline. It contained an old photo of the Shedairah complex's west side, pre-attack obviously. "Oh, I don't think I've met your new friend. You there, by the paper rack."

Terra came up and motioned for me to turn and face the man. "Leonard, this is our friend…" I faced the Senator.

Of course his voice was familiar. It was him. I did not recall Wexler being a Senator back then, but he sure was now.

Countless thoughts ran through my mind, resulting is a stunned silence on my part. I had not expected to ever see him again, and certainly not like this. My shoulders sagged as we looked each other over. Senator Arvis Wexler gasped as the blood drained from his face. His wrinkled expression twisted into a scowl. I awaited the unavoidable.

"EDGAR!" Arvis nearly shouted as he pointed a finger menacingly in my direction. His sudden outburst shook everyone but me. "Do you know who that man is?"

Edgar stood there, trying to regain his composure. He too looked stunned. Finally, he spoke in a much calmer voice. "His name is Leonard Gurosawn-"

"Do you know what his people did?" As I expected, Arvis shouted once more, cutting off Edgar mid-sentence. The confinement of the office caused his shouts to echo off the walls and ceiling. Surely those outside the closed door could hear. I shook my head and looked at the floor. "Gurosawn, you filthy bastard, look at me!" Arvis yelled.

Slowly I looked up, and saw Cyan reach out and grab Arvis by the forearm. "Senator, calm yourself, now." The General pulled the enraged Senator toward the wall and held him there.

"LET GO OF ME!" Arvis shouted in Cyan's face, but the military commander's grip remained sturdy. "Edgar you don't understand. Don't you know what they did? Don't you know what Julus Gurosawn and Nicola Braslino brought upon Narshe? And you call this piece of filth and feces your FRIEND?"

Locke and Celes were thoroughly confused, though Terra seemed to get the picture. She looked over to me and whispered, "Another one?"

I just nodded. "I had no idea he was your friend." Terra's eyes began to glisten. She immediately turned to face the corner. The room's air suddenly became much thicker.

Arvis kept bellowing. "His father was the mastermind. Everything this town suffered is because of Julus Gurosawn. And you dare befriend his offspring?"

Edgar walked over to where Cyan had pinned Arvis to the wall and tried to calm him. "Arvis, you speak of his father, not him." Edgar's voice was still collected. "It's not Leonard's fault who his father was, or what his father did. You can't soundly judge a man based upon his family. I've heard that-"

"You weren't here for it. It was going on before you even took the throne." Arvis interrupted Edgar a second time, though his voice had lowered to an extent. Cyan's grip had relaxed as well. "You didn't see them scheme and plunder from those below them for all the years that I did. You didn't see the law bend to the will of the Braslino and Gurosawn families, requiring nothing but the highest bid. They got away with it too, thanks to that square-faced army Major who lived in their pockets." Arvis had stopped to catch his breath, but he was nowhere near finished. He looked at me again. "This one's just like them." He broke free of Cyan's loosened grip and eyed me with a gaze so fiery it could've melted raw steel. "It makes sense now! I can see it all clearly!"

Arvis forced his way past Cyan and looked as though he'd rush toward me. The General reached for him again, this time grabbing his midsection and literally wrestling him down to the floor. "Senator! Cease and desist! Such temperament is most unbecoming to a man of your position." Cyan spoke to Arvis as though he was reprimanding a disobedient grunt, but the fuming Senator ignored him.

"No, you still don't see the truth. This man surely conspired with Braslino and that Major. He did it! He killed all those people at the mining base, I know it!"

Before I could say anything, Locke stomped over to the pinned Senator and knelt down to eye him. "No he didn't," Locke firmly stated inches from Arvis's face. "We have proof that it was a monster attack. Leonard is innocent. We all know it."

Celes walked over to Terra, who still had her back to us and was rubbing her face repeatedly. The blonde put and hand on the green-haired woman's back.

"Arvis, think." Edgar's voice was beginning to sound strained. "You're a Senator for the Narshean city-state of the Figaroan Monarchy. You need to think like one. You can't use a man's reputation or his actions as an excuse to criminally accuse his child. Calm down and think." Arvis opened his mouth but only stuttered.

Finally, I swallowed the lump in my throat, and looked down into Arvis's smoldering eyes. "If you knew the facts, you'd know that Quentir and Major…Bozwensc despised me." I spoke in as soft a voice as I could, not too hard as I didn't swallow the lump completely.

The room grew silent. Cyan remained on top of Arvis, eyeing the Senator along with Locke, Edgar, and me. Arvis's grunting and a weeping from the corner filled the room. I began to feel light-headed. No, I felt that way for a while and was only just realizing it now. The door was open and some armed guardsmen gathered outside in the hallway, clearly drawn over by the racket Arvis had caused.

The Senator looked up at Cyan. "Get off," he growled through clenched teeth. "Get off me General, now." Slowly, Cyan got his feet and let the Senator up. Arvis shook with rage as he eyed me silently, face burning scarlet. He then looked at Edgar. "How dare you," he snarled. And with that he turned to the doorway and stormed out of the office, shoving his way past the guards and down the hall.

I took a deep breath and exhaled before leaning back against the wall, rubbing my forehead and feeling very off-balance. "Leonard?" Locke's voice was less sturdy than it had been minutes before. "What was that all about?"

"I didn't know he was your friend, as he didn't know I was yours. He despised my father and takes it out on me." I offered the simplest possible explanation and glanced around. Edgar seemed to have a knowing look on his face, and Cyan and Locke exchanged similar frowns of shock and confusion. To my left, Celes was still consoling Terra, though the green-haired woman had turned back to face us, her cheeks moist and her grassy eyes a sore shade of red. When Terra stopped sniffling, she gave me a saddened look. "I guess the scene from the train station's not secret any more. Go ahead, fill them in," I said. She nodded, and I made my way to the door, thanking Edgar in a shaky voice as I passed.

"What? Where are you going?" The King questioned.

"Where else? Home. I'm suddenly feeling tired. Terra will give you all the details. I'll just call this Anti-fan Encounter Number Two."

_change in n_

And this day had been going so well with Locke and Leonard making up to each other. I'd never seen Arvis lose it like that. The first person I laid eyes upon after being freed of the slave crown, which Arvis himself had deactivated, was a nice, mannered person with a warm, caring persona. Yet that same man had just acted completely the opposite, snarling and cursing Leonard in a blind fury of hatred so powerful that only Kefka's misanthropy could match it. Leonard and Arvis were not strangers after all. Yet their acquaintanceship was clearly a venomous one on Arvis part. Leonard's reaction was only one of shock and sadness, not hate. There was a history, but like so much else about Leonard it was still mysterious.

I watched Leonard stagger out of the office as Cyan grabbed an armchair from near Arvis's desk and brought it over to me. I quickly slumped onto it. Locke knelt down at my side. "What was Leonard talking about? What's this 'secret' and why would you know it?"

I took some breaths. I was less shaken now and had found my voice. Leonard had given me permission to speak of something that I thought he'd want kept private, and my four comrades were all giving me curious looks. "The morning after the inquiry into the base attack, the two of us were at the train station when some woman called his name. He gave me this gloomy look as she came up and started this lecture. She said that her mother died ten years back because her family was too broke to afford medical treatment, after being victims of some con game that Leonard's father had orchestrated. She was directly blaming Leonard for her mother's death. His response was simply that she'd tracked him down just to feed him that same line many times before, that he was not his father, and that it was time for her to let go. His patient response only infuriated her, yet he kept trying and made no effort to retort or run."

Celes mouth fell open. "Where were you during all this?"

"I just tried to act like a bystander and pay no attention, but Leonard's repeated attempts to diffuse the situation failed again and again." I held up my hand and put a few inches between my thumb and index finger. "I felt this close to grabbing the woman and shoving her face through the waiting area's bench. I began to feel for Leonard. The scene brought back reminders of the Narshean townspeople calling me the Imperial Magitek Witch, blaming me for things I did while under the slave crown's influence. I couldn't contain myself any longer. I ordered her to stop blaming him for whatever his father did, tried to reason with her that is wasn't his fault."

"How'd she react?" Celes asked as the others listened.

I clenched my fist as I remembered what came next. "The woman ignored me and scoffed at Leonard, saying I was a fan girl seduced into being his body guard. When she did address me, she said that I could be redeemed if I wasn't already his sex slave." Upon my saying that, Edgar and Cyan gave each other troubled expressions while Celes and Locke made dirty looks, which made me pause.

"Go on," said Locke when he stopped glowering.

"That struck a nerve in Leonard, marking the end of his patience. He growled at her for insulting me like that, and than asked me to reveal who I was. When I gave the woman my name and affiliation and declared Leonard a Returner friend, she went from arrogant to timid in a millisecond. But all she did after that was express her disappointment in my having befriended with him. She gave no word of apology to either of us."

Celes narrowed her eyes when I finished. "What a hateful, gratitude-lacking bitch." She accentuated the last word.

"Did Leonard explain anything at all?" Locke wasn't scowling this time.

"He made it clear that he didn't hate her in return, and I got the impression that this shit was cumulative and complex, but he stopped himself after that."

Cyan rubbed his chin as his lips drooped. "Societal prejudice runs deep. Its claws dig far into the hearts and souls of men and women alike. Anger and despair infamously blind their subjects to simple truths." Cyan gave Celes a reminiscing, contrite look. "But for a prejudice to be as strong for her to insult ye as such Lady Terra, it is only one sample of how easy emotional hate can destroy one's mind. You did all you could." A few guards remained outside in the hallway, but Cyan dismissed them. "Leonard handled this incident well. He was silent and collected. T'is so unfortunate that a ranking Senator like Sir Arvis could not see beyond his rage to notice this. I now understand why my accusation about Leonard's possible involvement in the mining base calamity upset him so greatly."

Locke stood and walked over to Cyan. "So do I. We accused him of something he didn't do. We reminded him of people like Arvis and that woman. I think I can understand his detached personality. His calm, indifferent exterior is certainly masking a traumatic past." The treasure hunter looked at Edgar. "Ed, you seemed to understand what Arvis was saying. What did Leonard's family do?"

"I don't think it's wise for me to disclose such information. Leonard surely wouldn't want me to spill that many details. Much of what Arvis referred to was mere rumors about the Gurosawns, the Braslinos, and their activities. For now it'll suffice to say that many of those rumors were true all along."

As I stood up, Celes walked over to Locke and Cyan, and started pacing. "We Returerns all have some kind of sadness in our pasts, most of us anyway. What a coincidence that our new associate is no different."

Edgar nodded and looked at Cyan. "Well Arvis is in no mood to talk, and we still have to leave a message for the Governor. Let's not forget our initial reason for coming here."

"Aye, King Edgar." Cyan regarded the King as they both headed out to the hallway. He stopped and looked back through the door. "We have business elsewhere, but I trust that you two will console Lady Terra if she needs such."

"Leave it to us." Celes nodded as Cyan and Edgar left the room.

Locke turned to me. "I can also see why you were so upset at me, Cyan, and Gau for accusing him. For someone who's only known him a matter of weeks, you certainly connect with him on a much deeper level. Do you think that means anything?"

I brushed some hairs out of my eyes. "I'm not sure."

_change in s & n_

The next day came to pass without any further incidents. Arvis's outburst remained a secret, known only to us and the witnessing guards. We left a message for Governor Hoff with another Narshean Senator.

I was now in my study, thinking about my friends' activities and whereabouts for a brief moment. As far as I knew, Mog was in Narshe's caverns with Umaro, Relm and Gau were at the academy, Locke and Celes were training with Cyan, Setzer had taken the Falcon to South Figaro to entertain some upper-class, Leonard was at home or somewhere close to it since the farm had closed down from an electrical shortage, Terra was doing some training reviews with my brother, and my wife was attending to some town business.

I adjusted my desk lamp and looked over the papers I'd received from Cid's lab techs. He'd instructed them to delve deeper into the examinations on the monster samples. That meant dissecting the most complete one, Specimen 4, or the 'dinosaur man' as Leonard named it. The pictures and charts showed its innards. They indeed were reptilian in nature, but enhanced in some way. It had some clusters of veins in its wrists that weren't much different from the ones near its fingertips, the ones that allowed the growth of its claws. A muscle that could pulse was in the center of the vein mass. The only conclusion was that said muscles allowed the growth of its wrist blades, and that it could shoot them off and grow them back for the same purpose. It was its own best ammo supplier.

Yet the most intriguing aspect of the dissection was the look into its brain. They somehow removed it through the creature's large mouth and photographed it. There was something very complex about it. The brain structure seemed more intricate than the average animal, further backing up Leonard's story. He said it talked to him before dying, and that meant something, more than any of its words. I looked again at the glossy pictures and took in the brain's details. It almost looked like that of a…

"My love?" The voice brought me out of my research trance. Standing in the doorway was Charise, and she held of folder of some sort. "Am I disturbing you?"

I got up and walked towards her. "No, dear, you're not. We both have important tasks and often must turn to each other to accomplish them." I placed a hand on her shoulder and rubbed her back, feeling the slight bulge of her undergarments beneath her satin dress. She smiled as I did that, and I got an idea of what she wanted. "Are you feeling…playful?"

Charise's lips curved upward, but she shook her head. "No, I have been addressed by the leaders of the Reservoir Guild." She held up the folder. I took it and began looking through its contents.

Having a wife meant that I could share the duties of office with someone. I no longer had to compromise looking out for my friends with other obligations. And I never expected that I'd fall in love intimately with any one person.

But that was before my first visit to Vardigga. Shortly after Terra left Mobliz and Strago had passed away, one of my top advisors came to me with the suggestion of building trust with other nations as a means to help rebuild civilization. Like Jidoor and Nikeah, Vardigga had never suffered at the hands of the Empire. They were completely neutral, and prided themselves on that. Of course, the regeneration of society involved every nation and city-state on Sayitheren, and as Vardigga was known for its alchemic and environmental trades (among others), it seemed a wise choice to go to them for assistance.

They were a well-developed nation, though not the most easily accessed. Vardigga was situated squarely within the Dranaghis Highlands, the mountainous region south of Mount Zozo (Vardiggans would naturally never associate themselves with anything Zozoan, and the southern tip of the mountain range was officially renamed). Setzer was more than happy to fly me over and give me a brief tour, as I'd never been there.

It was a scenic excursion. The Dranaghis Highlands were home to many unique varieties of flora and foliage. Vardiggans harnessed this and worked such tree and plant displays into their architectural schematic. Trees lined every street, every plaza square had its own garden, and agriculture, another one of their specialties, was every bit an art as it was a fundamental necessity.

It was not so pleasant concerning relations, however. My fake truce with the Empire, even if it was indeed fake, had not earned me props with every nation of the northern continent. To keep from breaking my false alliance, I had to turn a blind eye to Imperial activities, no matter how atrocious. That's why I looked the other way when the Empire was marching against Doma, despite Doma's known collaboration with my secret allies, the Returners. And that was just one example. This ambiguity in diplomatic relations didn't go over well with Vardigga's ruling parliament. My victory over Kefka was the only reason they, albeit very grudgingly, gave me a second chance. Still, in a rather out-of-character experience, I made no attempt to approach Vardiggan women.

Yet one had approached me. She'd recognized me, and introduced herself as Charise Vastelle. We began talking consensually about my accomplishments, and before long I did my typical act and (not without warning) placed my hand on her buttocks. She giggled in response, and removed a high-heeled shoe before tickling my crotch with her toes. A female flirt, and she could keep up with me. I'm sure you can envision how things unfolded from there.

The relationship was not with out its penalties. The Vastelle family, nobles though not involved with politics, wasn't exactly pleased with her choice of lover. Both of us received our share of glaring frowns. Yet in the end, Charise was able to convince both her family and homeland that I was a worthy person who meant well in all circumstances, and though not too exited about our relationship, they soon kept their grudges to themselves. The marriage was actually Charise's idea, a way of mending the tension between Figaro and Vardigga. That's why she chose not to simply become Charise Figaro but instead Charise Figaro-Vastelle. It was how she celebrated both our personal union and bridging the gap between our two kingdoms.

Since the Vastelle family had long been involved with trade and commerce in Vardigga, Charise decided to handle such affairs in Figaro upon becoming Queen. That left me to handle matters of military, foreign relations, science and technology, and of course looking out for my closest friends. I could share the load of leadership.

As usual, Charise had been discussing matters with one of the labor groups. In this case it was the Reservoir Guild, the group in charge of purifying and distributing water throughout Figaro City. The desert was not exactly famous for its water supply. My engineers had created a system that allowed us to draw salt water in from the ocean, purify it in a treatment plant, then pump it out to the various districts in the capitol through a modest piping system. I looked over the reports and graphs inside the folder, still not sure of what they indicated. I turned to Charise. "Is there some kind of problem?"

She pointed at a descending line on one of the graphs. "It's only a small one for now. See this? It's based on observations of water levels within the percolation ponds and the amounts pumped through the system. As you can see, it's been gradually decreasing. Since this desert city is not much more than three years old, we really didn't notice it early on. According to the Guild workers, its decrease wouldn't be noticed at first, since it had little effect on water supply. But now it's becoming apparent. Homes and businesses alike reported that, while they're getting clean water, it's not in the quantities they need. As plebe classes lack the money to live nearest to the water suppliers, they're the ones who will be most effected."

I turned the page to look at a chart of the water pumping munitions. "I suppose we could start using a higher-powered fuel to increase the functional potency of—shit."

Charise's jaw dropped open. "Edgar? What is it?"

I answered. "With all the trauma caused by the loss of life at the Shedairah base, it's been so easy to overlook the attack's other consequences, like the economic ones. The type of high-grade fuel used in larger machines was one of Shedairah's products. Now that the facility's out of commission, we can't get the necessary products to boost the pumping utilities. I can't think of any other mining complex that had access to such a resource. So much for the conventional solution." I looked at Charise, and though she gave me a hang-dog expression, her beauty was still enough to make me smile. "Of course, as a man who killed off a magical psycho, I won't be stopped by a mere lack of high-strength petrol. I'm sure that we can build upon and upgrade the utilities of the plumbing system. It will take time, and it won't exactly be free, but I'm sure that people will understand. We can practice water conservation in the meantime. As long as a King hears his peoples' concerns, he has their trust."

That made Charise smile. "Edgar, where would Sayitheren be without you?"

"A barren wasteland, obviously." She brushed her hand against my face with that response. Her palm felt soft and smooth, almost like the nylons and satins of her gown. I handed her back the folder and placed my hands around her waist. "I'll tell the Guild of my solution right now. If they take to it, we'll need to start planning the first steps ASAP. It'll involve machinery too, my _second_ greatest pleasure in this world."

Charise's teal blue eyes twinkled with delight, and she started giggling. "I suppose your greatest would be travel via the Falcon?"

I forced down a laugh. "My Queen, don't think so lowly of yourself." With that, we both burst out laughing. Finally, we contained our shared humor. "Work first, play later. We need to meet with the Guild." I took Charise's soft hand in mine and we both left the study.

Certainly I could handle this looming water shortage. I could stop it before it became serious.

_change in s & n_

I was napping atop my freshly made bed.

I felt more drained than usual. Our activities of cleaning up and redecorating demanded running about and lifting almost constantly.

I could hear some feet lightly thudding in the hallway outside, and there was a thumping on the door a moment later. "Guuhhh…come in," I mumbled, inviting the visitor inside, despite wearing only a bra and thong. Only someone close would've knocked that way. I got an idea of who it was from the clunking sound of the knocks.

Seconds later, I felt some large paws on the edge of my bed, and a wet, rough snout brushing against my face. "Wakey wakey Ajalni", came a wet, raspy voice.

I opened my eyes. "Hello Chithagu." He smiled his wide toothy grin as I reached out and pet him. "I'll be out in just sec." Chithagu walked out the door as I got up. I grabbed a soft, long-sleeved blouse and a pair of jeans off the rocking chair and slipped them on. This guest room of Albrook's royal palace had been converted to my personal room. Chithagu often spent time here as well, though he was also more than happy to spend some time roaming freely, especially since I didn't keep a 'shitting box' in here. I fixed my ponytail, pulled on my shoes of dried, hardened leather, and walked out into the hall.

Ruqojjen decided to keep some of the decorative elements in place, as long as he felt they served a purpose, even if it was merely aesthetic. Any flags of Albrook that symbolized Sireck and Edrina's rule, white on the left side and light blue on the right, had been torn down and burned. Some of our own decorations were being added where the old ones had been.

The two of us walked down to the banquet hall. Ruqojjen had the best of our dining staff prepare the finest Jrysthovuhn cuisine to celebrate our victory in taking Albrook, and the clean-up that came afterward. It was all the more fitting since Albrooker food was bland and tasteless by its nature. The Albrookers amongst us were the first to admit it, and I knew it firsthand.

The other four high-rankers were already seated around the large table. I took a chair of my own and Chithagu curled up on the floor next to me, as he usually did when anticipating table scraps. At the head end of the table, Ruqojjen was sipping his drink. Judging from the bottle's label, it was hyarnagsh, a lime-flavored Jrysthovuhn whiskey. In the corner behind him, a young woman with shoulder length tan hair was playing some beautiful folk music on a small harp. Harp-playing was not her only profession. The short sword in her belt and the folded crossbow tucked into the back of her coat said that much.

Ruqojjen put his drink down and looked at the woman to his left. "So what's new Yithadri?"

Honored Shamaness Yithadri Juyolahriss took a drink from her chalice. "The Divine has been fed. It is thankful, though with its Spirit Stream in such a dire state it will need much more. What is new on your end?"

"Well," Ruqojjen began "I was able to locate two exiles, and they in turn led me to one more. They'd all but forgotten their origins. Two of them are examples of preserved intelligence, though they're far from the best in abilities. Obviously we have you four high-rankers, or Pung Thoshidai, here who outclass them in that regard." Ruqojjen gestured around at the others who were seated, all of whom smiled at his vote of confidence.

"No me?" Chithagu spoke up in distaste.

Ruqojjen laughed. "Just kidding Chithagu. We have five." Though lower than the others for obvious reasons, Chithagu wasn't so dim-witted as to not catch Ruqojjen's count being one short. The High Shenthaxa continued. "We also caught ourselves one of…them."

"One of whom?" Yithadri asked as the rest of us listened.

Ruqojjen explained, then added, "He was isolated, and his absence will surely go unnoticed. How well are the upgrades coming along."

Yithadri took another drink. "Enhancing or adding powers and abilities is pretty much the same. It's the quality of the mind afterward that's the problem. We're much more talented with the process then before, but we could still improve it. The main problem is balancing intellect with capabilities. It's difficult to raise one without sacrificing the other. Sometimes a lower intellect can be enhanced without much loss to abilities, but only by a small fraction. Much depends on the Divine, and what it's willing to do. Of course, you five Pung Thoshidai are the greatest examples of both being at their highest. But that is only thanks to your Pirusymn stones. Those are rare, as there's only been five created."

Just then, the cooking staff brought in a large cart with the meal on it, another Jrysthovuhn specialty. Herb-roasted T-bone steaks topped with a thin, rich sauce and steamed zyugwun leaves. A lobster soup was the side dish. Wines were already on the table, but the staff also brought sodas for those of us who weren't wine fans. They even brought a platter for Chithagu. He'd forget all about table scraps.

We ate in companionable silence. Ruqojjen, Yithadri, and Dyal'xern dined in an elegant manner, while Baokiydu, Sdalsyra, and I ate more casually. Chithagu and Qaurjaeda were the less refined eaters. Chithagu kept chewing with his mouth open and Qaurjaeda, with his huge appetite, didn't seem to understand the use of a napkin or utensils. We all found his table manners quite entertaining, except for Chithagu, who wouldn't notice. The best part was his belches.

As we finished, the staff cleared the table. When Ruqojjen was about to suggest dessert, he looked away from the cooks and toward the entrance to the dining room. "What can I do for you?"

I turned to see a guy in an armored mask standing there. He bowed. "High Shenthaxa. One of the sky patrols found a small traveling entourage headed this way. It's coming from the north." The guy's voice suggested he was no older than me.

The Shenthaxa raised his eyebrows. "What kind of entourage?"

The masked man shook his head. "I don't know, but it appears to be someone of noteworthy importance." He paused. "I didn't want to disturb your meal but-"

"You didn't." Ruqojjen stood and grabbed his black trench coat from the back of the chair. "In fact, I'm glad you chose to inform me about this. Carry on." He dismissed the man and turned to Yithadri. "We'll check this out. Care to join us?"

The Honored Shamaness declined the offer. "I'm the mystical figure of our movement. You're the one who handles public relations."

Ruqojjen smirked. "I'm deeply moved, Yithadri," he said before looking at the rest of us. "Alright, let's go." He left the dining room, followed by the Pung Thoshidai and myself.

Later, the seven of us were on the observation deck of a tower in Albrook's north district. A man came up and gave Ruqojjen some binoculars. "Interesting," commented the Shenthaxa.

Baokiydu could see many things, but he lacked zoom vision. "What?" he asked in his usual throaty voice, one so full of mucus that it was a miracle he never coughed up any when speaking.

Ruqojjen kept looking off in the distance. "A man with eight decorated, caped guards. The security force is too small for a noble of royal occupation. But he's definitely more than a simple messenger. He doesn't look to be of a military profession either." He adjusted the zoom focus of his binoculars. "I can see their chocobo mounts all have the same crest upon the saddles. They're Tzenish. The flag that's maroon on the bottom and light gay on top is the dead giveaway. And from the man's uniform, it is clear that he's a diplomat." Ruqojjen had done his homework and was well-researched in the southern continent's political systems. That was to be expected. After all, he was a High Shenthaxa. In fact, he had more world knowledge than many of those who outranked him on the Council back in the old country. The Council, always bitching about problems yet never making attempts to solve them, those fucking hypocrites.

Dyal'xern spoke up. "An Ambassador?"

"Not quite," Ruqojjen answered. "His travel guard is too small for that. He's a bit lower. An Envoy."

Sdalsyra folded her hands. "What the hell's he coming for? He's obviously not stopping by to use a toilet."

Ruqojjen gave the soldier the binoculars. "We'll find out. You there," he pointed to a blonde woman with a spear. "Go down to the city's north gate and relay these instructions to anyone stationed there. Have the Envoy and his company dismount and guide them to the north entrance of the palace district. That's where I'll be. Keep any of our creations hidden." The woman nodded and made for the stairs. We followed.

"So what's your plan?" I asked.

"We'll be a welcoming committee. I'll ask the Envoy what business he has in coming here, and maybe find out what the situation is like in Tzen. From there, I'll play it by ear."

Once we were at the palace district's north gate, Ruqojjen elaborated on his directions to all in the vicinity. "Leave a clear path down the center, and gather on both sides of it. Whatever you're carrying, you may leave it drawn. But hide it unless I say otherwise." He wasn't rushing to conclusions, but he was preparing for possible trouble.

The people formed crowds on both sides of the gate. Ruqojjen looked at the Pung Thoshidai. "Sorry but you'll all have to stay back and cover yourselves among the onlookers. Your appearances don't lend themselves to normalcy. Even you Dyal'xern. I know it's just your Pirusymn stone, but that might be enough to suggest something."

"You're killing my ego," Dyal'xern replied sarcastically.

Sdalsyra nodded. "Understood, we'll watch from a distance." She and the others disappeared into the crowd. Chithagu took notice and followed suit without my having to tell him.

We waited, and after several minutes, the north gate was opened and the eight guards led the Envoy inside. They stopped and stood at attention, forming two columns of four men each. The Envoy made his way up front and exchanged glances with Ruqojjen. Finally, the Envoy spoke. "Greetings, people of Albrook."

"And greetings to you Envoy," Ruqojjen answered in a diplomatic tone. "What brings you here?"

The aged Envoy looked around, silent before turning back to us. "I heard that Albrook was under siege. Yet there were rumors that peace had been restored. From the looks of things, those rumors are true."

Ruqojjen nodded. "Yes, order has been returned. Rest assured that the rioting and guerrilla attacks are no more."

The Envoy smiled. "Splendid. I shall state my business. I've come to confirm your condition and brief you on ours. It would appear that Maranda could gain the upper hand in their war against us. Seeing as we are closer to you than they, I would like to build an alliance between Tzen's House Virnone and The House of Lord Sireck and Lady Edrina. If we work together, we can both come out of this on top. Once Maranda takes Tzen, they will come for Albrook too. On this matter, I seek audience with the Lord and Lady."

Ruqojjen had the perfect response. "I'm sorry, but the Lord and Lady are in no condition to meet with you. They were injured during the attacks and are still recuperating from their wounds. However, as a messenger, you can leave your message with me, and I'll deliver it to them when they're capable of responding."

Only a messenger? For a High Shenthaxa, that was a heavy degradation of title. Actually, that's why he used it in his ruse; to give the impression he was less prestigious than he really was.

As he was talking, I noticed a crest on the broach that secured the Envoy's cape in place. It looked like a red shield with a black silhouette of a tree in the center.

I knew what that insignia meant, and I knew that Tzen's House held loyalty to a certain government that reveled in imposing obscenely strict traditions. I also knew what one of those traditions was. I decided to see if my assumption was correct. I tapped Ruqojjen on the shoulder, to let him know I was interested in asking a question, then cleared my throat and faced the Envoy to ask a perfectly civil question in a perfectly civil tone of voice. "What's the situation like in Tzen?"

My hunch was right. I knew what was coming when the Envoy looked at me, his aged, wrinkled face twisting into one of contempt and disgust. Some of his guards rolled their eyes too. "How dare you!" he growled. "How dare you child! How dare you address me when I have not spoken to you first. Have you no idea how to treat your elders?" I was annoyed, though not surprised. This man was a diplomat? If this was Tzenish diplomacy, I wasn't too curious to discover Tzenish aggression. I just listened as the power mongering Envoy bitched and whined. "Young women like you are not to address a man, and certainly not one of importance like myself, unless spoken to first. Do you understand?"

"No," I said indifferently. "I just asked a question that pertained to this discussion, rather than waiting for you to address me. It's called taking initiative." Clearly even good manners wouldn't bode well with this bastard, so I decided to see what intentional disrespect would accomplish. "It's also a custom of the modern era, pops." I sneered that last part.

Ruqojjen placed a hand on my shoulder. One might've thought it meant 'lay off' but from his smile, I knew it really meant 'good job'. He regarded the red-faced Envoy. "Sir, is than anyway to talk to a young woman. All she did was ask you a simple question? If you do not show her civility, I'll have to ask that you leave." He pointed to the open gate behind the Envoy's guards.

The un-diplomat had not settled down one bit. "Fool. A teenage girl has neither the intelligence nor the right to speak among noble men. I demand to see a figure of the House's authority. I will not leave messages with any who encourage such a lack of civil conduct."

_You're one to speak, motherfucker,_ I thought as Ruqojjen leveled an expressionless face at the Envoy. "Sir," he said in a slow, cold voice. Still, he made no threatening movements. The guards stayed at attention and made no attempt to intervene. "This is not your city-state. You're a guest here. You're in no position to make demands. This can't be allowed in our territory. Now leave." Ruqojjen wasn't pretending there. We had taken Albrook. It really was our territory now.

The arrogant Envoy remained. "It is clear that his legacy has faded too much from this world. The traditions of the late Emperor Gestahl must live on. Albrook is in need of his Majesty's influence."

Gestahl. A name we never wanted to hear again, unless it was spoken with spite, not the reverence the Envoy used in mentioning it. Tzen's House had been Imperial loyalists for years during Imperial reign, and they still were from the sound of things. We finally realized why the Envoy had come here. Now we could unleash what we'd been holding back.

Ruqojjen pulled me close and whispered to me in the mother tongue. I slipped away into the crowd and relayed the directives to the townspeople at the edge of the path. With the guards concentrating on Ruqojjen unsuccessfully telling the self-righteous Envoy to leave, I was able to slip behind them unnoticed and give the instructions to the other crowd.

"You seek to revive the reign of the fallen Emperor?" Ruqojjen asked.

The Envoy folded his arms. "It is the only way to live."

We needed no repeat of that. Ruqojjen didn't answer. Instead, he raised his hands high, and clapped them together.

None of the eight Tzenish guards saw it coming. Crowds of people in street clothes on both sides of them charged, and shoved their weapons into the Envoy's security force. Spears, axes, daggers, and the like each found their mark. Each target was cut down by several strikes to their heads and torsos. Ruqojjen had whispered his plan to me, and I informed the onlookers to attack when he gave the signal. Novices or not, they could follow directives.

The Envoy turned to see his company get butchered. His authority was gone now. His true nature was revealed. Beneath the robes of office and Gestahlian design, he was a complete chicken shit at heart.

As he gasped in horror, Ruqojjen grabbed him in a chokehold. The Envoy's eyes went wide. "What is the meaning of this? The House will not look with favor upon this atrocity!"

Ruqojjen gave him a stone cold glare. "The House has been killed. Sireck, Edrina, and their son are no more. The last two I personally executed myself."

The Envoy tried to speak. He understood what we'd successfully concealed until now. "You're the extremists who were fighting the House! You're insane!"

In a stark contrast to the Envoy's panicked voice, Ruqojjen was calm, almost laid back. "Insane," he almost laughed at the word, but his face hardened again. "You come in here and insult a young woman simply because of her age, then you demand we kiss the anus of a dead authoritarian figure." He pulled the Envoy's face close to his own. "If insanity is being defiant of mental capacity, you're the one stricken with it."

"No one," the Envoy gasped, "no one threatens an Envoy, nor do they threaten an unarmed man as I."

Ruqojjen did not waver. "You're not an Envoy. You're a terrorist with the ambitions of a tyrant, and you're armed with the most dangerous weapon of them all, ignorance." He was right about that one. The Envoy a diplomat? More like a dick-lomat. "People like you have raped the Divine's Spirit Stream before. I will see that you never do it again. The Divine doesn't need you, or anyone like you." There was no better response than that truth, though the Envoy didn't even have the vaguest understanding of such a topic. "Of course it's beyond you. Power hungry Generals and greedy politicians will never understand. There's so much out there far greater than them."

I couldn't resist. I looked the Envoy square in the eyes and let loose again. "Not so tough now, eh pops?" Now I was talking down to him.

Still performing the chokehold, Ruqojjen raised his fist, extended his index and middle fingers, and thrust his hand forward in a spear-hand attack.

The Envoy gagged once before his body went limp. Two holes in his neck showed where Ruqojjen's fingers had pierced his jugular vein.

The crowd soon dispersed, going back to whatever they'd been doing before the Envoy's visit. The Pung Thoshidai joined us in standing over the Envoy's corpse. "Next time we get some pricks visiting, lemme at 'em." Qaurjaeda smiled up at Ruqojjen. "I want some action next time."

Sdalsyra brushed her bangs aside. "Well that might actually happen soon. The Tzenish House certainly knew he was coming here, and will be very curious when he doesn't return." She looked at Ruqojjen. "Or is that part of your plan?"

The Shenthaxa looked at her, at the dead Envoy, at the dead guards. "For now we'll keep House Virnone occupied with other matters. Gather the bodies and maul them up, then toss them out in the forest. Scouting groups will think they were victims of the wilds. If anyone comes around asking about them, they never made it here."

"Brilliant," Qaurjaeda declared before picking up the Envoy's corpse. He and the rest went about the disposal task.

"What now?" I asked as Ruqojjen and I walked back to the palace.

"We can be sure that Tzen and Maranda will be at one another's throats. If the Envoy was being honest, we can expect Tzen to get desperate soon. I don't think they'll get outside help. Who could provide it?"

That reminded me of something. "What's going on in Hypocrisy Land?" Upon hearing his answer, I declared, "That gives me an idea, though it may sound rather complicated."

Ruqojjen gave me his curious look. "What is it?"

I explained it partway.

He gave me an eager look. "If I were to discredit your idea before hearing you out, I'd be just like the Council of tyrants and hypocrites. Explain it more." I did, and as I said more, his grin became wider. "Let's inform Yithadri about it."

_change in s & n_

My proposal of enhancing Figaro's plumbing system was met with enthusiasm. The Reservoir Guild had been setting the add-on project in motion for the last two days, and were swapping blueprints two days before that. Cid's biology team had a project of theirs as well.

Charise stood near our bed, slipping out of her dress. "What are they doing now?"

"Cid has called together some of his best assistants for this one. No conclusions have been made, but this new one might be a part of it," I answered as I unsnapped the brass buttons on my tunic top. I hung it on the back of the chair and looked at the clock. A quarter till midnight. "It's complete, and actually alive, despite its comatose state."

She placed her dress on the gown rack inside the closet and began removing her jewelry. I faced Charise as she was now clad in the black tights and nylon camisole she wore beneath her gowns. I gazed in admiration at her form. The tights perfectly showcased her curvy but not overly-wide hips, and the camisole gave hints of her fair, but not under-sized bust.

Charise was a gorgeous women, and even seeing her in clothes did nothing to change that. Often times though, I just wished her wardrobe could be more varied. Royal blue gowns with yellow highlights, though seductively soft, only went so far on their own. I wondered how she would look if she dressed in a more simplistic manner, like the tight jeans and soft blouses that Terra and Celes often wore. Yes, she was a Queen, but when not in the public eye, she could dress differently. Beauty was hardly confined to noble women or their fashion style.

I pulled my boots off as Charise removed her hair ribbon. Her locks came down and hung at their usual length, her waist. While I unfastened my pants, she kicked off her shoes and removed her camisole and tights. She was now clad in just undergarments, with her reddish gold hair hanging loose. She sat on the bed with a smile. "King Edgar, want to play?"

I tossed my pants over with my tunic and grinned back. "Just one little safety precaution first." A wife granted me some freedom, but neither of us wished to have children. We could only devote our spare time to our friends and each other. I grabbed a condom pack from my dresser's 'tool drawer' and placed it on my nightstand as Charise turned off the desk lamp. We pulled back the bed covers and lay down. "Now we can do the warm up."

She leaned back against me, and I felt through her long soft hair to her bra clasp. I leaned forward and kissed her cheek as I unclasped her bra with one hand and reached for the rubbers with the other. She 'ooh'd' and 'ahh'd' when my fingers touched her back. Now we could…

"King Edgar! There is an emergency in the town!" Cyan's voice was urgent as he pounded on our closed bedroom door from outside.

And just as we were about to indulge ourselves. "Fuck," I grumbled, then realized what I'd just said. I looked at Charise and pulled the covers up to conceal her exposed breasts. "I guess _that_ will have to wait." I got up and pulled my pants on. "Come in Cyan," I called as I shoved my feet into my boots.

Cyan threw the door open, letting light from the hallway pour into the bedroom. "Sire, come quickly."

I didn't bother with my tunic. I grabbed my plate mail vest off the wall and fastened it on over my stained undershirt. "What is it?" I asked in voice filled urgency, a voice like the one Cyan was using.

"We shalt explain on the way, my Liege." He ran out the door after that, but I could hear his voice in the hall.

Charise was not used to action like I was. She was definitely not combat savvy. She was still staring at the open door from under the covers. "Wait here, I must check this out." I grabbed my sheathed, magic-lacking but plenty sharp Excalibur and fixed it into the weapon slats on my armor. I made sure to give Charise a parting kiss before running outside, instructing the guards to stay near her.

In the hallway, an army officer with a beard and chin-length red hair gave me my auto-crossbow, the one with a built-in flasher device. I placed it in another weapon slat and recognized him as Colonel Jerom Frennard, another one of Cyan's elite. "The chocobo stables have prepped some mounts for us." Jerom looked down the hallway where Cyan had gone. We both ran in that direction.

"Where is the crisis?" I asked as we rushed down a flight of stairs. At the bottom, Staff Sergeant Rodney Hayne, joined us.

"The labs sir," Rodney answered as we turned a corner.

My thoughts were of Cid and his bestiary specialists. "What the hell's going on, Staff Sergeant?"

"We got a radio transmission from one of Professor Marquez's lab techs. It was cut short but we got enough details to get the picture. The new thing's gone haywire."

"What?" I exclaimed as we neared the door to the chocobo pens.

Rodney shook his head as we kept running. "I know. The pecker was near death when it washed ashore just twelve hours back. But now it's all hyped up and thrown' shit about, wreakin' havoc and whatnot. It was sleepin' 'til the lab staff placed it in a tank. Then without warnin' it jumped out and went on a rampage."

How did the creature recover so quickly?

We burst through the doors to the stable. Cyan and two armed Lieutenants, one male and the other female, had already mounted. A stable hand brought another three rides, and we wasted no time in saddling up. A seventh chocobo joined our group, this one ridden by a young Private who bore a nervous look. I got the impression he was ambitious but had yet to complete basic training.

"Young sir, ye has not the training to assist us here." Cyan looked the guy, no older then twenty, over.

"But I want to help you," he protested. His heart was in the right place.

I rode next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Than ride north to the mountain trail and fetch my brother. Tell him we're in the lab through the east entrance. Wake him if you must." The Private nodded and rode off in the direction of Sabin and Marielle's mountain cottage. Our group kick-started our birds and rode west.

My heart was pounding every step of the way. Surely my pulse rate was competing with the sprinting pace we demanded of our chocobos. It felt like eternity, but we made it to the lab complex. Luck was on our side as we had no trouble getting in.

Red hazard lights were flashing rapidly along the corridor walls, and the sirens were blazing loudly with their ear-grating buzz. We stormed down a long hallway when, not a dozen feet from the laboratory chamber's entrance, Jerom slammed into something thick and hard, falling backwards and landing on his ass. Rodney almost suffered the same fate. "Son of a motherfuckin' bitch!" The NCO cursed as he violently slammed his booted foot against the twelve-inch thick, transparent, poly-plastic emergency shutter that dropped from the ceiling in such an event. He slammed his fist against the obstruction, but it remained between us and the lab.

"Can ye manipulate its control, King Edgar?" Cyan almost had to yell so the buzzing sirens wouldn't drown him out.

"Sure." I saw a small panel on the wall to my left and rushed over to it. There was a large red button labeled **OPEN** in the corner, so I pushed it. Nothing, I tried again. Still nothing. I started swearing as I realized I'd have to enter the full access code on the number pad. I knew what it was, but entering it once did nothing. I punched it in again, and a third time, getting the same results. Only then did I realize why. "The goddamn monster chewed up the wiring that powers the opening mechanism," I yelled in fury. Cid was trapped in there for all we knew. His life depended on our actions, and his death could be on our hands.

"Is there another way inside?" Jerom looked around.

"Not an open one," I called out. "All corridors to the lab have shutters just like this one." I was going to kneel down and examine the walls and floor when I noticed something.

There had been smoke billowing up beyond the shutter, but some of it had dissipated. Through the gaps, I could see a man in a lab jacket pinned under an upside-down table that had been tossed aside. I recognized the man who was struggling to free himself from beneath.

Cid.

The doctor was trying valiantly to escape what was pinning him down, looking at the heavy table with an expression of painful determination on his face. He was sweating profusely, and I could tell that he'd been wounded and that the injury was impeding his progress.

Than suddenly, he stopped, looked up, and froze. I knew what that meant. We all did. Next to him, a large, brown object slowly crawled into view, the flickering light above glistening off the surface of its hide. It had no features that I could see from this distance, no limbs, facial traits, spikes, nothing at all. Cid remained frozen as it slithered past him. It was some overgrown invertebrate, a slug or leech, the size of a cattle.

I could no longer see flashing red lights or hear buzzing sirens. I could only focus on Cid, and the shutter that divided my group from him. These shutters were built to save lives in events like this, to stop rampaging animals or contain fires. Now, in perilous irony, one was preventing us from saving a life. What about Cid's aides? Were they already dead? There had to be a way to open the bastard, prying it or something. I looked on, hoping the generic lump of slushy mass would keep on its course and slither past the doctor. That could give us time to find a way of opening the shutter. Even better, it could give Sabin time to get here and do some blitz attack that would destroy the blockade. He had knowledge I had yet to peek into, and a broken door would never be a match for my brother.

All of a sudden, the slithering mollusk creature stopped in its tracks. It turned its front end in Cid's direction. I caught a straight-on glimpse of its circular mouth, and some long teeth that lined the round opening.

The monster's face lined up with Cid's!


	12. Intentions

**Chapter 12: Intentions**

My impulse was to call his name, but I decided against that quickly. I didn't know if the hazard shutter was sound-proof. If it wasn't, my shouting could attract the monster, and though I had every desire to lure it away from the doctor, he was between us and it. It would slither on top of Cid in following my voice, crushing him in its wake. The six of us just looked on as the giant leech monster flashed its teeth inches from Cid, who was doing his best at playing dead.

Finally, after what seemed like forever (despite being only a matter of seconds), the thing turned away from Cid and sloshed off in the direction beyond him. With the monster's backside to both Cid and us, I tested out the sound-proofing on the shutter door.

"Cid!" I shouted loudly, then banged the poly-plastic barricade for effect. Neither he nor the creature acknowledged my noise. The door muffled sound, at least to some extent. If the monster didn't notice us, maybe that could be an advantage.

Suddenly I got an idea. Cyan read my mind, or my face. I could feel my lips forming a vague smile. "Have you a plan of entry Sire?" Cyan tried sounding hopeful.

"Well, there might be a way to pry this mother open." I looked at the ceiling, from where the shutter had dropped. "There are latches that hold the shutter up when it's not needed, but nothing to hold it down should it be lifted manually. If we just had the right," I forced out a nervous laugh. "Duh. Tools. Of course." I should have known. I cursed at myself for not thinking of this earlier. Even under pressure, I still had to keep a handle on details, especially my own supplies and their uses.

I drew the Excalibur and stuck the blade between the floor and the shutter's bottom. It wouldn't go more than a few inches before stopping dead. That didn't give the required leverage. I needed a more powerful tool. Doing a check of our gear, I found one.

Jerom was carrying a compact drill-pike. "Colonel, your drill-lance, if I may."

He drew his weapon and handed it to me. "Sir, can we drill through that in time?"

"We only need one hole. With the sound muffled, the creature won't come to investigate. We have to act fast." I didn't know how long the creature's diversion would continue. With a loud whir, the drill came to life, nearly silencing the buzzing alarms. With force I shoved the spinning bit into the lower end of the shutter.

While the others concentrated on the monster, ready to issue stop signals if it moved toward Cid, I pressed the drill into the shutter's face, piling dust on the floor as the revolving diamond-tipped bit tore through the poly-plastic material. At last the hole was large and deep enough that no more drilling was needed. I shut the power tool off, yet kept it inside the hole.

"Okay. Cyan, Jerom. Grab the handle. On three we lift." The two men squatted and took hold behind me. "One…two…THREE!" We stood and lifted up on the drill's handle while forcing its bit to stay inside the hole. The shutter was above our heads now. Resisting the urge to charge in yelling obscenities, I gestured to be quite as we entered, instructing Jerom to watch the hall for my brother. He was still on his way, and I didn't want him to make excessive noise upon entry.

Rodney and I drew crossbows, Cyan his Murasame, the Lieutenants some long rifles. Together we crept up to Cid while keeping our eyes peeled for any movements on the creature's part. It kept its back to us, though I kept my eyes open for any sudden movements.

We approached Cid, and greeted him in whispers. "Professor," Cyan gasped under his breath. "Thou art wounded." He and Rodney grabbed the toppled lab table and carefully pulled it off him. He winced as they did so. A sharp-edged lab instrument had been on the table when it was thrown about. It landed on Cid, the table's weight pushing the tool's point deep into his abdomen. His yellow coat was soaked with blood.

"Can you stand?" I asked him.

"Be-fore…the table was thrown onto me," Cid gasped, obviously in pain "it knocked…me off the small ramp. I…may have twisted my…ankle." Cid stopped, breathing heavily.

"Sarholme," Cyan addressed the female Lieutenant. "Carry him away." The woman nodded and lent her shoulder the wounded scientist. Once they were a safe distance away, I regarded the monster, which had gotten bored of its diversion and was now slithering back up the ramp. Waving smoke from burning and broken lab hardware out of my face, I followed it.

Someone was laying in its path atop the ramp, a man in a white lab coat. This was an assistant of Cid's. Was he dead? I decided to stop the monster before it reached the fallen lab tech. I pondered letting loose my entire bolt cartridge, but remembered what Leonard said about one of the other specimens. Maybe this one also had such a talent.

Cyan tightly gripped his blade while Rodney and the Lieutenant held their weapons at the ready. Not knowing this creature's attack capabilities, I signaled the others to join me in taking cover behind some broken control banks along the ramp's sides. Whispering for them to aim but not fire, I popped from my crouch and let loose three shots into what I presumed was its lower backside.

The arrows connected with a squishing noise, followed by a low, sustained rasping. From my covered position, I saw the thing stop and turn around. It faced us, and some vein-like organ of dull reds and purples slithered out from its round mouth. It's tongue?

Standing from cover behind the damaged console, I faced the beast and spoke with authority. "Are you chosen?" Maybe this was a talker like Leonard's dino-man.

"Sir what are ya' doin'? It's an animal. It won't answer." Rodney's question reminded me that he'd not been present when Leonard spoke of the talking monster and its 'mission'. I quickly explained it to him and the Lieutenant. Both men looked at me as though I'd grown an extra pair of eyes until Cyan backed up the claim.

Cyan believed Leonard now, though Leonard possibly didn't know that. After this was done, I'd make it a point for him to know that the General, like Locke, was his friend.

The beast leech said nothing. It just waved its tongue-vein about before pulling it back. It was readying a strike in my direction, and I was already ducking back into cover before the organ lanced forward.

Yet it did not strike the position I had vacated. In fact, it came nowhere near me. It instead slammed into a light fixture above, shattering the bulb and causing the fixture case to swing around from the impact. With the room a little darker, I tried again. "Do you talk, you slimy motherfucker? Can you speak to me?" I was even more demanding now. "ARE YOU CHOSEN?" I felt a bit silly asking questions to an animal, but Leonard seemed credible. I had no reason to doubt him about the talking monster.

"Sire, this one may not be of the talking breed," Cyan said from across the walkway near another instrument bank. As he spoke, the leech's vein was sweeping the ground before him. Then, when it touched the console, it retracted into the monster's mouth. The thing stood on its tail, to a full height of seven or eight feet from my estimation, and let loose a swing at the control bank. Though it didn't come near Cyan, it hit the console with such force that the bank ruptured. It deformed and discharged sparks and smoke, forcing Cyan into the open. The monster's vein pulled back and swung down again, this time aiming for Cyan.

The General was quick though, and swung his blade in an arc before himself, side-stepping as he did in case the vein were to gush an acid or some other offensive threat upon injury. The Murasame's polished steel sliced through the organ with such force that the severed half was thrown wiggling to the far side of the room. The giant leech groaned loudly, still standing on its tail.

No more waiting. "Fire now!" I gave the order to kill, and Rodney complied by sending some arrows into the monster's side, the Lieutenant blasting rifle slugs into its chest at the same instant. I myself let loose more bolts from the auto-crossbow.

The beast roared in pain from each hit, then fell backwards. Making sure it was dead, I crept past the destroyed consoles to its corpse. The creature began to foam like a rabid animal, this foam covering its whole body. It made fizzling noises, and as the fizzing calmed down, the foam shrank until nothing but a puddle of water remained. I asked Cyan to check for the piece he'd slashed off, but he said only water was left. This new monster decomposed immediately upon its death, leaving us with nothing to study. Even the solid tissue of its fangs had liquefied.

Of course, Cid's lab was in no condition for research. I looked around at the destruction, and saw another fallen lab tech behind the puddle, then one more. Cid and all three of his aides had been attacked.

The buzzing sirens died. One of my staff had shut them off. The male Lieutenant joined me in observing the water puddle. "That was almost too easy. I really expected so much more vitality on its part. It was much easier to kill than that giant snapping turtle we fought in the army base mine."

I looked at him. "You were on the Shedairah mission. Edderbricht, right?" He nodded.

"Did I miss something?" came a puzzled voice. I turned to see my brother looking at the destruction the vanquished leech monster had wrought. Sabin gave me an annoyed frown. "You had me leave Marielle, in the middle of _playing_ of all times, just to come here and see this mess."

"I was ready to go at it with Charise when Cyan pounded on my door, so that makes two of us. There was a monster here but we killed it with less effort than I predicted."

Sabin's annoyance gave way to curiosity. "Monster? What kind? Where is it?"

"It was a gigantic leech with a vein for a tongue. Once it died, its body just fizzled and melted." Sabin now looked disappointed. "Of course, you can still do something here. Your healing mantra will come in handy." I motioned for Sabin to turn around. Lt Sarholme and Jerom were behind him as he entered, and he hadn't seen them tending to Cid.

"Oh fuck. Doc!" Sabin shouted as he ran to the wounded Professor.

"Sir, we've got a live man here!" Rodney brought my attention to the first of the lab techs. "The fella's got low signs but he's still tickin'."

I rushed to the second science technician and had Lt. Edderbricht check the third. Both lab assistants, though severely wounded and barely conscious, were alive. "We need to get a medical team in here." I looked for a radio bank, but the only one I found was destroyed beyond use.

"I'll do it," Rodney spoke up as he reached into a pants pocket and pulled out a black device. "These brand new hand radios sure come in handy." I nodded in agreement and reminded myself to produce more of them. As Rodney called for the medics, I turned back to Cid. Sabin was bandaging his stomach while Cyan, Col. Frennard, and Lt. Sarholme tried to keep the doctor comfortable. I wanted to ask him all the details, but knew he'd better recuperate first.

_change in s & n_

"Granddad, you're alright," Celes exclaimed as she hugged Cid, who walked using a cane.

"Of course my dear. Remember that I once looked after you for a year while you were comatose after the great collapse. I may not be a fighter, but I am a survivor." The doctor hugged her back as Locke gave him a pat on the shoulder.

Calling Edgar a genius was an understatement. He had all these inventions that made life more convenient, including methods of fast communication. Though radios were expensive and not used in private homes, Edgar had invented a less-complicated machine for instant communication over long distances. It was a typewriter that connected to power supply cables underground or suspended from towers. A user could start up the machine, set a message for one or more desired recipients, and type the message using the keypad. The identical machine on the receiving end would type that same message on paper for the receiving party.

On this morning, I was eating some breakfast when I heard the machine that Edgar installed in my house buzz. The message read 'Attack in lab last night. Come by comd. Cntr. For details. Edgar.' I wasted no time in dressing and catching the train to Figaro.

When I arrived at the command center near the castle, Edgar and Charise were already there talking to Cid, while Cyan and Sabin conversed with some of the present military staff. I recognized two of them, Leonard's friend SSgt. Rodney Hayne and Col. Jerom Frennard, one of Cyan's elite officers. I recognized the male Lieutenant, a man with dark blonde hair pulled into a short ponytail, though I didn't recall from where. I didn't know the woman, who had a round face and chin-length black hair.

Setzer arrived with Locke and Celes, both of whom were now seated next to the wounded Professor with their arms around his shoulders. Some Returners were absent. Gau and Relm were at their respective studies and I assumed Mog was in Narshe working with Umaro, if not lecturing him again.

As for Leonard, I had no idea of his whereabouts. Was he working at the farm, or were they still repairing the damaged power line?

"If this is all who'll be coming, we can begin," Edgar announced. "Cid?"

"Yes. I'll say first off that I'm grateful my three assistants and I are alive." Nods filled the room as he began his story. The previous day, some large creature resembling a giant leech had washed ashore at the coast to the south. Locals summoned the military, who caged it and brought it to Cid's lab complex to determine if it was a new, advanced species. When it was determined to be comatose but alive, the lab workers placed it in containment. It sat for there for most of the say while they carried out their research on the specimens from the Shedairah base. Near midnight, they began their work on the leech creature.

They went about the first step of placing it into a tank to draw some blood, and when the creature was stuck with a needle, it awoke and went on a sudden, violent rampage. According to Cid, its first act was extending some appendage from its mouth and slamming it into the nearby lab worker, forcing him back into a nearby instrument panel with such force that he broke it and received injuries in the process. It then crawled out from the holding and swung its organ around, shattering the capsules that held the other specimens, destroying both them and the tanks. It actually leaped with great speed on a few occasions, and was able to slam itself into the other lab techs before chewing at wall panels and gnawing on the wiring beneath. Cid triggered the emergency door and alarms and sent a radio call before the monster destroyed the radio bank and launched Cid down the ramp nearby, where it threw an equipment table upon him.

Cid let the military staff continue the story. The radio call was received by Rodney and the woman, who introduced herself as 2nd Lieutenant Deanne Sarholme.

The transmission was brief, not quite ten seconds in length. She and Rodney wasted no time in gathering a team that included Cyan, Jerom, and the other Lieutenant. I suddenly remembered where I'd seen him before. He was the one from the Shedairah mission, who took command after Vonius died. Deanne introduced him as 1st Lieutenant Paul Edderbricht. As she and Paul went to the stable to prepare rides, Jerom, Cyan, and Rodney went to fetch Edgar, who sent a young private to fetch Sabin from his cabin.

The report was now given to Edgar. He explained the problem they had in getting past the shutter, to which the power supply had been damaged. Once they were inside, they pulled Cid to safety and dealt with the monster. Edgar asked it about being 'chosen', but it didn't answer. It simply destroyed an overhead light in response. When he tried again, the monster attacked a console bank near Cyan before attacking him, at which point he slashed off its appendage before the others took it down.

"And then I showed up, a moment too late for the action." Sabin's voice carried a tone of mock disappointment."

"Well like I said before, I thought we'd have more difficulty in killing the monster," Edgar replied.

"At least your medical knowledge came in handy. You helped tend to my wounds." Cid gave Sabin a look of gratitude, to which the blitz master grinned in response.

"Speaking of wounds, what's the status on the other three lab workers?" Edgar asked, turning to his staff.

It was Deanne who answered. "Two of them are still under. They received some head trauma, but nothing that'll leave serious, lasting damage. The third one is actually awake. He said the creature was mere feet away from him for several minutes, and he expected it to kill him off in that time, but it instead chose to wreck the lab equipment. At first he thought it tried killing him, but soon wondered if it only attacked him to get at the console banks and preservation capsules."

Edgar's eyebrows went sky high. "He thinks it was more interested in causing property damage than death?"

Deanne nodded. "In his opinion, yes."

In another time, I'd have thought it absurd for monsters to have interests, for they lacked the intellectual capacity. Yet after hearing about Leonard's 'chat' with the dinosaur man, anything seemed possible.

"I just thought of something else," Paul spoke up. "This creature was not only less durable than that giant turtle from the mine, it also seemed less, for lack of a better term, advanced." He elaborated. "The turtle had those tentacles which oozed acid when slashed, and it also spewed out those sound wave bursts. It seemed like a hybrid, sort of like the reptilian-humanoid. This leech however, was simply an overgrown, excessively violent version of its usual, normal-sized kind. Whatever's creating these things isn't making them all on the same level."

Cid contemplated Paul's words before answering. "Well, in any case, we cannot inspect it. The laboratory's been ransacked beyond use, and the monster's body has disintegrated. Even the watery residue vaporized soon after."

"What now Sir?" Rodney addressed Edgar. "Eventually this'll go public. We gotta say 7omething', but what?"

Edgar scratched his chin. "We'll call this a 'laboratory accident'. It's not a lie, just an over-simplification of the truth. I have two reasons for this. One is that if somebody's keeping an eye on their handiwork, telling the press too much could tip off the involved party or parties regarding our status. Two is that we've no actual proof it was a monster attack. There's no beast corpse to back the claim and the visual Trapper bots that monitored the lab were destroyed by the creature." He faced Jerom and Deanne. "Tell the lab workers to repeat that story. They are not to mention the leech's rampage to anyone. There was an accident and the monster was destroyed. Of course, the absent Returners and our close associates can hear the true story." The Officers nodded in understanding. I mentally applauded Edgar. He knew to plan ahead. "That is all for now. My staff and I have other matters to acknowledge."

Cid got up and started for the exit. "Granddad, shouldn't you walk with someone?" Celes asked while putting her hand on his back.

"No dear, I'll be fine." To prove his point, he took a few more steps before she could protest.

The military staff departed. Cyan was about to leave when Edgar called him back. "Oh, and to answer your question from earlier, a man from the Utility Guild came in today. The dairy farm will be up and running tomorrow."

"Thank you My Liege." Cyan bowed as per usual. "T'is good news. I must have a talk with someone there." As he followed his staff out of the command center, I wondered what business Cyan would have in speaking to a farm worker.

That's when I remembered who worked there.

_change in s & n_

It felt great to be at work again. The dairy cows were certainly glad their usual pen cleaner had returned, mooing at me while I shoveled their feces out of their enclosures.

Now I was sitting at the train stop near the farm. I was debating whether to go straight home or stop at the castle to check on my friends. I hadn't been down here for nearly a week, and had plenty of time to think about it. I'd missed the last train by minutes, and since they were running at half schedule today, I'd have to wait twenty minutes for the next one, not the usual ten.

"Ah, Leonard. You're here, as I'd hoped." A man's voice got my attention. I turned and saw Cyan on the train bench across from me. "I would like to talk with you, if you don't mind."

His words didn't sound like the accusing ones he'd sent my way the last and only time we spoke. His voice sounded so different that I could swear this wasn't the same person who'd accused me of the mining base massacre. He wasn't scowling either. He was actually smiling. "Sure, the next train's not for a while."

I was more than willing to listen to Cyan after he kept Arvis Wexler from my throat back in Narshe's Chamber of Office. He tried to calm the Senator's rage, though his efforts were in vain. At least he wasn't siding with the volatile old man, despite their closeness. "Leonard, I owe you an apology for accusing you of the base attack. I was only trying to be cautious. At the time I believed you had something to do with it. Your reaction of taking it so personally reinforced that belief, as I'm sure you know." I nodded. "Yet, the specimens recovered from the mine, in combination with Professor Marquez's findings, have defeated any and all possibility of your guilt. Despite my intuition and judgment honed by years of tactical experience, I was wrong to doubt you."

"Th-thanks," I stammered in surprise. Cyan Garamonde, an experience military officer, was admitting respect for me, a man he once looked down upon as a criminal guilty of both mass murder and high treason against my own people.

"I had no idea my accusation would upset ye so greatly, as I had no reason to believe an innocent man would react that way. Yet after seeing Senator Wexler's outburst, I had to wonder if there was truly more to you than was obvious. His outburst was greatly disappointing. I've known him for a good few years and he always struck me as a man of great resolve. For rage to consume him like that without warning had me questioning your plight. Though I can already tell ye two know each other, I shalt not delve into personal histories." Again, I was dumbstruck at Cyan's empathy. He wasn't prying into my past, as if he sensed he knew more than I wanted him to. "Though if you don't mind my asking, who were those two you spoke ill of at the dinner, your late superiors from the base. I recall Arvis mentioned their names."

"Braslino and the Major." I named the two in question. "They were criminals." I left it at that. Arvis had implied that much already.

"I won't probe into what they did. I would not think you eager to share it. I'll just say that you have my sincerest apologies for not trusting you, even if it was out of caution." He sounded honest. "I heard about the death of Captain Kades, though do understand, I do not blame you for it. You did what you needed, while he did what he _thought_ was necessary. You saved your life with no assistance, though I presume you know that Kades took such action because he believed in you, even if he doubted you at first."

"Yes. Terra already gave me an account of what I missed."

"Edderbricht also spoke highly of you, and your daringness in climbing the monster and all the details of your fight with it."

"Who?" I'd never heard that name before.

"1st Lieutenant Paul Edderbricht. He was on that mission and took charge after Kades perished. He said that he could see the warrior in you after witnessing your actions. I can see it too."

I briefly smiled as we exchanged compliments. "I'm sure you'd know. You've spent maybe half your life training such people."

"Knowing such things has come with experience. And don't for get that honor is a custom from Doma."

It dawned on me that I really had no knowledge of Domans. I'd gotten a poor first impression from Cyan. But now I was willing to give him a second chance. "I thought your customs were primarily against modernism and machinery." I explained where that conclusion originated. "My grandfather was an officer in the military. He often accompanied people on diplomatic missions to Doma. He spoke highly of your people, but didn't quite understand their traditions against technology. I recall hearing that your train system went against your King's ways."

That brought out a laugh from him. "Actually, it went against _my_ ways. The train system was my King's idea. Unlike those before him, he understood that we could not live in the past forever, and that modernization would have to enter our country. Many understood him, though with their high pride in traditions they were certainly not willing to accept it openly."

I looked into his dark eyes. "So Domans were not the obsolete people I had once envisioned."

"Not entirely. Yes, I still have much to learn in the field of technology. Prince Sabin and King Edgar won't let me forget that much. Slowly I am learning what I must in this industrial, post-Kefka world. But some of Doma's concepts were loyalty, honor, and friendship, and freedom. Those can never be outdated."

He was right, but that last one confused me. "Freedom? I thought it was a tradition of yours to force youths to serve in the army or some other type of servitude."

My confusion was reflected in Cyan's face. "Forced? Young sir, we never forced anyone to serve against their will. However, more so than other nations, we recognized and acknowledged a youth's willingness to serve. We offered them free continued education for their civil or military service. Duty was encouraged and rewarded greatly, yes, but never imposed. In a very strange twist, the fallen Empire also encouraged and rewarded such decisions. I was able to see this when I learned how many of the Imperials condemned Palazzo's poisoning of our drinking water. Some of them lost old close comrades, who were prisoners within our castle when the poisoning happened."

Cyan's admission to that was another huge surprise. "You could actually understand and admit to that. I thought you simply viewed the world in black and white."

That made Cyan laugh even harder. "Sir Leonard. I was retainer of Doma for twenty years, and have been General of Figaro for the last three. I could never achieve such a status if I saw primarily in absolutes. Thy world has many shades of gray, not just pure white and pitch black."

I ingested his words, including my stranger new moniker. "Sir Leonard? That sounds more than a tad awkward."

"I only mean it out of respect."

"Well just call me Leonard. I want to be on a first name basis." The train was coming from the west. Moments later it stopped and the two of us bordered.

"Interesting that you say such." Cyan took a seat. "Lady Terra wishes that I call her only by her given name too."

"Really?" I got the feeling our conversation was about to shift topics.

Cyan proved me right. "She feels very highly about you, if you did not already take heed."

"Well that's to be expected. She saved my life. But she did that once before with you folks, saving the world's communities. Her feelings about saving me can't be all that significant in comparison to that."

We looked out the window at the city passing by. "Don't brush it off so casually. Her playing the role of unforeseen heroine by herself to you alone gave her some kind of renewed purpose."

I was about to ask why when the train's loudspeaker intervened. "Now approaching Figaro Castle."

Cyan got up from his seat. "I must be off. It was nice to finally speak with you." We swapped handshakes before Cyan departed. As the train started up again, I realized how little I knew about Terra Branford. Though by this time, the amount of knowledge I lacked was hardly surprising.

_change in s & n_

"Why Ruqojjen ask us find others?" Chithagu rasped with his usual, shitty grammar.

"I think he wants to tell us all something directly, and not have to repeat himself. As to what that is, we'll just have to find the others and see." I spoke as we entered the palace of Albrook.

"Where others?" Chithagu asked again. I wasn't totally sure about Qaurjaeda and Sdalsyra, though the last I'd heard, Dyal'xern and Baokiydu were occupying themselves with an exotic dancer. Somehow, they'd found one in the city, hoping to get 'action' from her. They were likely in one of the palace's private rooms. Normally, I wouldn't disturb their 'play time', but I was sure Ruqojjen's desired gathering was a prelude to something they'd enjoy, like action of a different kind.

Chithagu and I walked about the palace corridors until we came to the 'dancer room.' The door was open, yet the light on inside suggested the room wasn't empty. Curious, I knocked, and upon hearing Dyal'xern invite me in, walked inside.

The scene before me was a surprise all its own. "Guys," I asked "why did you kill the dancer?"

The twenty-something brunette sat on the couch with a massive, gaping hole between her breasts, Baokiydu gnawing on her left wrist and Dyal'xern on her right. The two made loud, chewing and slurping sounds.

Though Baokiydu was too focused with his chomping to answer, Dyal'xern heard me. "Hey Ajalni. To answer you question, this bitch was a left-over from that long-defunct Cult of Kefka."

That was totally unexpected. Knowing that one of those sub-humans had wandered amidst our vicinity was very unsettling. "What the hell? How did you find out?"

Dyal'xern swallowed his mouthful. "Straight from the broad's mouth. She spoke of how 'reverent' he was and how she missed her fellow cult members, how she was tired of being alone in her beliefs and hoped to find kindred here."

"She thought we'd be like those self-destructive, self-hating bitches and bastards? What fucking audacity!" I spat out in disgust. Even Chithagu picked up on this. I heard him growling. "But at least she was alone. Besides, what do you expect from stupidity?"

"Yeah. When she said that, Baokiydu rushed over, extended his palm blades, and shoved them into her chest. Someone has to put ignorance in its place, right?" Dyal'xern looked over at heavyset Pung Thoshidei, who looked up to smile in between bites. "Anyways, after we exterminated this parasite, I felt hungry, as I'm sure you've noticed." The lanky Pung Thoshidei finished his sentence and took another bite.

"Hungry?" I almost laughed. "You had two fucking plates of flapjacks with honey for breakfast this morning, and you're still hungry?"

Dyal'xern licked blood from his lips. "The _other_ hungry?"

"Oh, that's right. You're feeding your essences, not your stomachs. That's good, because Ruqojjen asked me to find you and the others. I think he's got some major announcement that will precede some action of a different sort. Have you seen the other two?"

Dyal'xern got off the couch and walked over to me, his tall form towering over my petite one. "Qaurjaeda stopped by earlier. When we told him about the dancer, he ripped her heart out and said he and Sdalsyra would share it. I presume they're both in the rec lounge snoozing." He looked back. "Let's go."

"What about the bitch corpse?" Baokiydu asked, or should I say, hacked and coughed.

Dyal'xern pointed down the outside hallway. "Throw 'er in the meat locker. That'll make appetizers for tonight's dinner."

After storing the Kefkan bitch meat in the freezer, we located the other two Pung Thoshidai. Sdalsyra rested her tall, feminine build against Qaurjaeda's heavily muscled chest.

"Well greetings, even if you kinda ruined the mood," Qaurjaeda joked.

"I'm sure Ruqojjen will let you resume the games after the meeting. He asked me to gather you all."

Sdalsyra stood up to her full height, shorter than Dyal'xern's but still considerably taller than mine. "Really. Where's that?"

I pointed over my shoulder with my thumb. "In the southwest area of town, in the aero-dome near the port."

We made our way through town in that direction. The aero-dome was the large domed structure where airborne ships would dock between coming and going. Though only one small freight airship remained after Albrook's wars with both the other city-states and ourselves, Ruqojjen still felt the structure served a purpose, so he kept it.

We found him in a small storage room drinking from a paper cup. It was not his usual, ice-cold wine. The steam and the smell were giveaways that it was pure black coffee, one of the few Albrooker beverages he liked, aside form the amber wine.

"You called for us, Ruqojjen?" Dyal'xern casually addressed the only other person of our movement with a height comparable to his own.

The High Shenthaxa sipped his hot drink. "Yes. I have some news for you all, as you no doubt have guessed." We took seats on some packing crates and listened, Chithagu flopping down at my feet. Ruqojjen cleared his throat. "Our scouts have learned that Maranda's Duke is taking slaves from the smaller towns, forcing them to assist his army."

"Shit!" Qaurjaeda growled. "Mandatory servitude at its ugliest. We have seen it all before." Qaurjaeda spoke of the Council's practice of imposing strict rites and rituals upon certain Jrysthovuhns, training them to carry on the very customs that were destroying their own culture. People were jailed if they resisted. The Council cared little for the personal freedom of others and forced them into lifestyles against their will. They never understood that those who perform the best in such a position are the ones who choose to do it, not those forced into doing so based upon their talents.

Sdalsyra rubbed a colorless hand upon his clawed fingers. "Did you expect anything different? You know what kind of government Maranda has, and what those governments do." She looked at Ruqojjen. "Why don't they just revolt against their oppressors? Surely they outnumber their captors."

Ruqojjen shook his head. "The Duke and his armies are ferocious, far beyond the slaves' comprehensions. To them, the Duke and his troops are superhuman, and this fear factor has the slaves stopped cold and unwilling to resist."

Dyal'xern folded his arms. "Forced to do something they do not believe in, just to survive. Yes, I'm sure they despise those Gestahl lovers of House Virnone, but it's obvious the Duke of Maranda is no different. Tyrants are tyrants. Fighting bastards at the demand of bitches makes no difference."

Slavery was beyond intolerable. It was counterproductive. We had prisoners from Albrook's army and nobility (though by now many had committed suicide or were killed while trying to incite riots), but we never had slaves. Those who relied on them put themselves in a position where they'd be totally helpless if the slaves died, revolted, or met some other fate. If you give them nothing, they will give you such in return, soon favoring their own death above life. Ruqojjen knew from a practical standpoint that slavery was the product of the weak or the ignorant. He also opposed it from another standpoint. We all did. Jrysthovuh had endured a millennium of rigid, oppressive customs long after any such need was rendered moot. Ruqojjen and Yithadri vowed to bring an end to the Council's iron fist.

"So what's your plan of action?" I asked, though I already had a basic idea about the answer.

Ruqojjen took another sip. "According to the reports, a slave ship is making its rounds. Its next stop is the port town of Lagione on the eastern edge of Maranda's domain. It should be there by tomorrow to do more 'recruiting'." He clearly spoke that last word with sarcasm. "We'll go there, intercept the troops, and show the slaves how vulnerable the Duke's followers really are. This should inspire the villagers to come here, where they'll be educated to our cause, their true need."

"Ohh, ambitious. Now _that's_ aplan." Qaurjaeda smiled, brandishing his sharp, pointed teeth. "Though what makes you think they'll join us?"

The High Shenthaxa finished his drink and squashed the cup in his hand, tossing it into a lined trash drum. "The Albrookers did. The same reason will work again."

"Will we take the freight airship?" Baokiydu slowly asked in his throaty voice.

"No. It needs a few tune-ups. But we do have another method of transportation. Let me show it to you." The High Shenthaxa led us out of this room and into a large hanger. He gestured to some kind of transit car with thick, padded wheels. At first glance it appeared to be a specialized train car, yet it didn't rest upon any tracks. "We'll be taking this."

Dyal'xern's gaze did not leave the odd vehicle. "Did our people make this?"

"Kind of. It was originally going to be an Imperial creation. They had some wheeled vehicles called Tunnel Armors and were planning to upgrade them with this model. Of course, the project was abandoned once the great collapse took place, but the early stages of it were kept in storage. I found this when I was detailing the aero-dome, and had our own people finish the job, our way. It can travel with the speed of a train and carry a large amount of cargo or staff, but its mobility is not confined to tracks."

Once again, Ruqojjen Kagasjori proved himself wise and resourceful, much to some peoples' objection. I walked up next to him. "How interesting that the Council forbids our people to build such technology back home. They forced certain people to become engineers and practice the very skills that made this new creation possible."

He just laughed. "Well I need not repeat myself about there being no logic in hypocrisy. Anyways, eat well tonight and get some rest. We'll leave for Lagione tomorrow at sunrise."

Sdalsyra nodded. "Rescue the slaves. Someone has to do it. We already know goddamn well that those," she narrowed her solid-colored, shimmering eyes "over-glorified hypocrites won't do shit, so we'll clean up what they neglect." Her glower relaxed. "Than again, we earn trust by doing so."

_change in s & n_

"Magnificent display of agility Lady Terra." Cyan clapped his hands after witnessing me perform a couple somersaults and leaping maneuvers.

I landed on my feet after flipping from a high bench. "Thank you Cyan."

The aged General turned to Sabin. "You train you pupils well, Prince Sabin. Sir Duncan would be proud to see how your students turn out. I know because I am proud."

Sabin put his arm around Cyan's shoulders. "Well you would know. You were training Doma's best when I was just a child."

Cyan laughed. "I've heard similar pleasantries before. In fact, Leonard told me that just earlier today."

"Oh," I called across the dojo room. "You had your talk with him?"

"Of course I did. The man has a warrior spirit in him, even if his modesty keeps him from seeing it for himself." I walked up to Cyan as he spoke. "Oddly, he thinks that your heroine's act is not so great an accomplishment when compared to our slaying of Kefka. His obliviousness is quite puzzling."

"Oh well. Everyone has their faults and Leonard is no different." Sabin shrugged and began walking down to the dojo's first floor. Cyan and I followed. A young messenger boy was waiting at the door.

"General Garamonde. King Edgar has called for you."

"I see. I shalt be on my way." Cyan turned to Sabin. "Lady Celes and I have finished our session, as I presume you two have finished yours. I will take my leave now."

We said partings and watched Cyan and the message carrier board a chocobo wagon. Sabin patted me on the back as we walked out the doors. "I'm going home. I guess I'll lock up the place since I don't think you'll be staying."

"No. I'll see what's going on in town."

"Sure. Have a good one." Sabin locked up, waved good-bye, and began walking up the mountain trail.

I walked around to the dojo's far side to find Celes sitting cross-legged on the ground looking at the fish pond, a sheathed Strato blade sticking out from her haversack. She was dressed in sleek, dark blue jeans, their thin legs tucked into her white boots, and an equally slim, short-sleeved black top. It was quite common for women her age and even older to dress like that. She was no exception.

However, when she looked up to greet me, I saw something about her attire that struck me as out of place on her. On the chest and stomach of her top was a large image of a blooming rose. I had a shirt like that and so did Relm, but Celes wasn't even the last person I expected to see in one. Celes was dressing 'girly'.

"Hi Celes." I sat down next to her and pointed at the flower graphic on her shirt. Some of its details were highlighted with glitter. "Since when did you become a flower girl?"

Celes ran a finger through her straight blonde locks and smiled. "Can't a woman be just that?"

"Of course. But I never thought you'd wear a shirt with a large flower on the front side. It just doesn't seem very 'Magitek General' of you."

She looked out at the pond, where a large fish was swimming among a school of tadpoles. "Fuck the Magitek General. The General is dead Terra. She was a product of the Gestahlian Empire, and should be put to rest along with it. Now I'm just a young twenty-two year old woman who wishes to enjoy life." She turned to look at me. "Not unlike you Terra. I was denied a natural childhood. Now I will make up for that. The Imperial legacy will not live on through me. If I'm a General, you're an orphan's mother." I cringed. "Yes, my thoughts exactly."

I watched the tadpoles disperse before answering. "In that instance, you're much like me. You wish to leave the atrocities behind and live the life you were denied."

Celes's smiled disappeared. "Not quite. Unlike you I cannot blame my sins on a slave crown. I willfully brought death and destruction to many people within the Imperial domain. Killing in the name of power was my accomplishment as a teenager. I spilled more blood by the age of sixteen than any normal person spills in their lifetime. Maranda was my most famous victims. There were lesser-known…." Celes turned away.

I though she was about to cry. "Celes," I put my hand on her shoulder "you have redeemed yourself since that time. The past is over and done with. You brought a future to this world by killing Kefka. I think you've more than atoned for any crimes you did back then. They used you like they used me. They just lied to you instead of using a slave crown."

I didn't think I was the best person to console another, yet Celes looked up at me. "Yes, I have. You are right. Why am I moping?"

"I don't know but I broke that habit and encourage you to never start it." My words made her smile again. "Besides, how would Locke feel if he knew you were obsessing on past regrets? He'd be very unhappy."

"How interesting Terra. You're comforting me now. We really have come a long way."

"And look on the bright side," I went on. "You knew the Empire was evil, and you chose to fight against them and join the overwhelmed resistance for moralistic reasons. That's one hell of a feat on its own."

She raised her eyebrows. Her sky blue eyes went wide. "You think so. Truthfully I felt a burdening shame in not having done it sooner. I just did what any right-minded person would have. At the age of sixteen, the only bloodshed a girl should be involved with is her period. Normal teenage girls don't conquer villages and slay all who oppose totalitarianism. The threat of death at the Empire's hands was hardly frightening. After coming to my senses, the chance to join the Returners was all that kept me from being suicidal." She stopped herself. "But whatever. My past truly is behind me." She stood up and brushed dust off her jeans.

I did the same and brushed the dirt off my jogging pants. "Yes. The regrets are over. You have the trust of the world. You are forgiven."

That brought back her smile. "You truly are compassionate Terra. You also have a great deal of empathy. Of course, you already know that. Saving the life of a complete stranger says more about that than words ever could. Not that you've no special feelings for Leonard."

"Huh? Well, um," I was unsure of what to say next. "He's a friend. Why should I not have feelings for him?"

"You saved his life Terra, at a time when you questioned the purpose of yours. You obviously see him as more than a friend. You empathized with him, according to your story when that woman at the train stop tried ripping him a new one."

Did Celes really have a point there? "I just didn't think it was right for her to lay blame upon a man who was clearly innocent. I would've done the same thing for a total stranger in such a position. I'm a Returner. I help those who deserve it, strangers or not."

"Arvis's verbal outburst also upset you."

"It was a shock. The man who freed me from the slave crown understood that I wasn't responsible for my actions with the Imperials. But he failed to see Leonard in that same way in regards to his father. Arvis's rage was unexpected and unsettling."

Celes turned back to the pond. "I guess your lack of experience with romantic love would have you see it that way. I think you feel something for him that goes beyond friendship. You just don't know it yet. My romantic love for Locke didn't grow overnight. I too didn't think that my intimate feelings of love were just that at first. I'm sure he felt the same way on his end. He was just helping me as a means to atone for what he considered past failures. Only with time did we understand our mutual interest; each other." She looked back at me. "Given time, I think you'll understand the same thing."

"What about Leonard? How does he feel?" I asked, though I didn't expect her to know the answer. She didn't know him much better than I did.

"Well," she folded her arms and looked off blankly. "That's a tough one. He seems very secretive with his past, and if Arvis's viewpoint of him is to speak for the general Narshean populace, I'd have to say that Leonard's romantic life may be nonexistent. I can only speculate, but it's an educated guess that he was very untrusting until the day you found him, and for good reason. Maybe someone who knows him better can give you more insight. I cannot think of any friends he might have though."

"I can. Mog is one. Leonard once did mining in the moogle caves. The other one is Rodney Hayne, Edgar's cigar-chomping Staff Sergeant. He worked with Leonard at one time."

"There you go. They'd know better than I would." Celes looked at the watch face on her bracelet. "I don't mean to leave you, but I need catch the train."

"That's okay." I pulled Celes into a sisterly hug. "So what's on your agenda when you go home?"

"What else? Girly things." She laughed. "See you around." Celes waved and began walking to the train stop.

I was happy for her. The past was the past. Nothing would bring it back. The Empire had crumbled and the Kefkan Cult disbanded. We were heroines. We had the world's trust and respect. No one believed her to be a double-crossing spy or anyone of a dishonest nature. She was loved the world over, and had built up her own self-respect as well. The once cold Magitek Knight understood love, and was now even teaching me about it. Sayitheren loved and respected Celes Chere. I knew that in my heart.

What reason did I have not to think so?

_change in s & n_

Baokiydu paced around in the land cruiser. "Are we there yet?"

"Almost," Ruqojjen sighed from the front end. Baokiydu's lack of patience often tested ours. I could understand his restlessness. At least he only got impatient when not on a mission. In this case, it was the anticipation for one that had him on edge.

Still, his angst was getting the best of him. "You said that last time I asked." Baokiydu's vocal rasping got more pronounced when he was grumpy.

Ruqojjen folded his arms. "That was five minutes ago. Have some patience."

"Hey Baokiydu." Qaurjaeda looked up from a bag of food. "Here, have some unsalted jerky. Eating should cure boredom." He reached in the bag and offered some contents to our impatient comrade, who seemed unconvinced but took the jerky strips anyway.

The land cruiser was wider than a standard train's boxcar, roughly twice as wide. We'd loaded it up with food rations since we'd left before having an ample breakfast. A team of reinforcements came along with us, since we weren't fully sure what military assets the slave ship would boast, though we all agreed it could be dealt with easily enough. We didn't bring any creations, as we didn't want to give our rescue charges too much of a shock. Chithagu speaking would startle them as it was. The appearances of Baokiydu, Sdalsyra, and Qaurjaeda would be totally unexpected (Dyal'xern could keep his visual oddities concealed). The fewer visual anomalies, the better. Ruqojjen had plans to explain everything later.

I knew he didn't plan on bringing the rescued slaves back to Albrook in this cruiser. It was spacious, but definitely not large enough to accommodate a village worth of former slaves. He'd thought of something though, or else we wouldn't be traveling to Lagione by now.

Maranda was at the western edge of the southern continent. The isthmus that once connected it to Jidoor's opera house had been eroded away by the oceans. The land gap between Maranda and the rest of the continent, placed there by the great collapse, had been closed with a hilly upland region brought about by some undersea topographic activity. It was the continent's largest mountain region, larger the Logrius mountain range that surrounded the old Imperial capital from northeast to southeast before the collapse. Some of it was composed of remnants from the Dimofres and Tarpakeus ranges, the mountains that once surrounded the capital on the northwest and southwest, respectively.

In the center of the continent was a gigantic crater several miles in diameter. It was called 'tyranny's pitfall' by locals. Once the location of the Imperial capital, it was later where Palazzo's crudely formed tower was erected. Once that was destroyed, a large sinkhole opened up in its place. We'd passed that some time ago, and were traveling through the mountains to its west. Beyond those was Marandan territory.

"High Shenthaxa Kagasjori," the cruiser pilot called through the doorway to the piloting room up front. "We're approaching our destination."

"Splendid," Ruqojjen answered before turning to Baokiydu, who started falling asleep near Dyal'xern on a pile of wheat sacks. "Wake up guys. We're just moments from Lagione." He gently nudged each of them with his foot until they awoke.

I tapped Chithagu's horns to awaken him. Sdalsyra and Qaurjaeda sealed closed their respective snacks. The cruiser began slowing down. When it stopped, Ruqojjen announced, "We'll have to walk from here. A forested region encloses the outskirts of town from this end." No one objected. As he issued directives for the soldiers, who'd remain on board, the rest of us filed out of the cruiser.

Our group of seven walked through the wooded area, Lagione coming closer with each step. When we finally reached the end of the wilderness, Sdalsyra looked around. "What the hell?"

"Lagione has been ravaged," Ruqojjen answered. "The great collapse and Maranda's war efforts have plunged the city into disarray."

Sdalsyra kept looking at the surroundings. "I know that, but where is everyone?"

We walked further into town and saw more of the same. Lagione was reduced to a slum. Trash cans were over flowing, some were over turned, allowing flies to swarm their rotting contents. Street lamps were rusting, paint was chipping from buildings, wooden signs were crumbling away, the few healthy plants were crudely trimmed, their fallen leaves scattered on the dirt and pavement.

None of this was surprising, but Sdalsyra's question remained unanswered. "Where the fuck is everybody?" Stopping at an intersection of two major streets, we looked around for an answer.

Windows were broken, doors ripped from their frames and tossed into the street, a wooden cart had been turned upside down. I followed Ruqojjen and Baokiydu inside a building at the southeast corner.

It looked like a tavern or diner. The furniture was broken and tossed about, and shattered chunks of flatware and glass crunched beneath our boots as we explored the ransacked building. I leaned against the bar counter. In poverty, it was expected that the locals would be fighting over the scarce resources, and that riots and property destruction would follow. But that did not explain why the city was vacated.

"Fruity, fruity!" Chithagu rasped from outside. Rough as his voice could be, it was hardly on the level of Baokiydu's. Chithagu had more of a wet rasp, much different than Baokiydu's typically dry one, save for the mucus gags.

"Chithagu," I went back out to the sidewalk "what the hell are you babbling about?"

"Fruity," he rasped again. As I wondered if this meant anything, he swatted the toppled wagon aside. A pile of fresh pears was beneath, and he wasted no time in scooping them up into his mouth.

As Chithagu munched on several pears at the same time, Dyal'xern frowned, his narrow eyes widening. "Fresh pears? This vandalism is recent, possibly happening just minutes ago."

Ruqojjen picked up on this. He rushed outside. "If that's the case, then….SHIT! Follow me."

He took off running before any questions could be asked, Dyal'xern and Sdalsyra close by him with Baokiydu not far behind. Qaurjaeda wasn't the fastest runner, but his leaping speed made up for it. He was bounding after them.

Normally, I could keep pace with the others. My augmentation gave me enhanced speed and agility, and I was physically healthy for a sixteen-year-old girl. But I had the lowest stamina of our group. I was already tired from the early morning wake-up and our trek through the woods. Though my augments provided me with a very special tongue, enhanced durability, reflexes, and to a lesser extent physical strength, it did not increase two notable characteristics; my stamina and my breast size.

Seeing that I hadn't followed the others, Chithagu squatted down and let me climb upon his back. When I grabbed his horns and gave word, he took off running on all fours, closely following the others.

We followed Ruqojjen to Lagione's harbor, at the town's southern end. Though in a previous time it was a bustling port, it was now in a run-down, abandoned state like the rest of the city. However, there was one sign of harbor life.

"Fuck," Qaurjaeda spat. We stood between storage houses at the dock, observing the one activity. "Were we late?

"No." Ruqojjen shook his head. "They were just early."

An enormous boat constructed from a metallic had docked itself near the port, a steam-powered warship. In gold lettering, the words **The Baroness Margo **were printed along the boat's side. From the poles atop its deck, the banner of Maranda's Duke, a flag of a dark brassy yellow with five black stars forming a V shape in the middle, flowed in the morning breeze.

The Marandan military had arrived ahead of schedule, raiding the town and capturing its residents. I glanced up at Ruqojjen. He didn't look at all defeated. "We're still not late though. They're still loading up their captives. Look." Two long ramps extended from the loading dock up to the doors on the ship's side, slavers marching the captured townspeople up them both in triple-file lines. "Even when that's finished, it'll take awhile to secure them all in the cargo rooms. Here's the plan." His words got our attention.

As he spoke about freeing the slaves, I knew there was an unspoken subtext. He spoke about freeing these Marandan people as though he were freeing our own. Indeed, we had comrades back home who were forbidden to join us thanks to the Council's migration ban. They were confined where they were, watched closely by the Council, stripped of their freedoms. The Council had every intention of keeping them from us, preventing them from joining our movement, isolating them so they'd remain weak and we'd get no added strength from Jrysthovuh.

Yet there was another, more grim thought on the High Shenthaxa's mind. When this movement was in its grassroots stages, back before I'd even met him, thousands of political exiles fled Jrysthovuh to escape the Council, scattering about in the world's many regions. Ruqojjen hoped that one day he'd locate them and bring them into the movement, where'd they be welcomed as kindred souls. But then came the great collapse. The vast majority of the exiles perished, and very few survivors were found. Though he couldn't really blame himself for their deaths, he did feel regrets about never finding them. They needed a boost of inspiration, not unlike our people trapped back home by the Council, whose every intention was to cut off the 'bad' influence from the public.

The High Shenthaxa cast one final look at the slaves being marched into the ship, a group of people whom he saw as not that different from our own. "Let's move." We followed him through the storage yard where the townsfolk were being lined up. As we passed another warehouse, a woman's cries from within got our attention. Ruqojjen motioned for us to stop and look inside a broken window.

A Marandan soldier with thick, curly hair and braids in his moustache and goatee had his arms wrapped around a young, protesting blonde woman. Though a long broadsword was fixed to his back by a shoulder strap, he held a smaller knife to the woman's throat. As she looked up at him, I gathered she wasn't much older than me.

"Pay you respects to the Duke and his vanguard, you defiant bitch." The soldier slapped the girl and threw her to the warehouse's stone floor, where he stepped on her stomach with his booted foot. Unable to resist, she couldn't stop the man from reaching under her skirt. He pulled something out from beneath and tossed it aside. It landed on the window sill, where I could examine it up close, a white pair of panties nearly ripped in half. "You can't win." He loosened his belt and reached for the fly on his trousers.

He wasn't answering a call of nature.

"Ajalni, help the women." Ruqojjen's voice was deathly silent. "Qaurjaeda, make the bastard suffer."

Qaurjaeda tossed his loose braid back over his shoulder. "My pleasure." He walked past Sdalsyra, whose dirty look was harsh enough to kill the man. "Don't worry. I'll take him down a dozen pegs." She nodded slowly.

The two of us entered the warehouse. I snuck around a pile of storage crates and let Qaurjaeda do his part.

"If it's sex you crave, try a brothel, prick." Qaurjaeda got the man's attention. Startled, the soldier turned around. He froze upon taking note of Qaurjaeda's appearance.

As the soldier stared, I rushed out from behind the crates to the crawling women, tapping her shoulder. "Over here," I whispered. "Yeah, my friend isn't exactly handsome, but he's here to aide you and the townsfolk." The girl said nothing, but took hint and followed me behind the crate pile.

The soldier broke out of his trance. He reached behind him and drew his broadsword. With two hands, he took a swing at Qaurjaeda, a slivery blur trailing the slash's path. The muscled Pung Thoshidei didn't flinch. He raised his left hand and grabbed the blade in his palm, tearing it from the soldier's grasp and knocking the man to the floor. "Is that all you got?" Qaurjaeda gripped the blade with both hands. "Hah. My erections pack a bigger wallop than your sword strikes."

With that, Qaurjaeda took a breath, his Pirusymn stone glowing slightly. He proceeded to bend the thick sword, folding the tempered steel weapon in half until it was bent into a skinny U shape, at which point he bent it in the opposite direction, snapping it in half. He tossed the pieces aside and stretched out his hands.

His palms weren't even scratched.

The would-be rapist was stunned yet again. Qaurjaeda grabbed the soldier's wrists, then used his back legs to pin the man's feet to the ground. "I'd call you a fucker, but you'll never do _that_ again." Qaurjaeda smirked, lifted his right-front foot ...and stomped down.

I swore the ground quivered under my knees as his heel connected with the stone floor. The girl and I looked on. The soldier was hardly the big bad wannabe rapist he appeared as moments before. Now he was screaming like a bitch, his genitals crushed into nonexistence underneath Qaurjaeda's foot. Somehow, I didn't think it was enough pain for him to experience. He'd already gotten power over the girl by enslaving her. How much more did he need? Oh well, he got what he deserved. A pool of shiny blood spread out from under his groin area.

Sensing the manhood-less soldier could draw unwanted attention with the screams, Qaurjaeda reached for the man's neck and tore out the bastard's throat, silencing the cries of agony. "Who needs med school to do genital surgery?" Qaurjaeda joked to himself.

I hadn't forgotten about the girl. She was still huddled next to me among the packaging crates, looking dumbfounded as Qaurjaeda glanced at us after stepping off the rapist's corpse. "Hey," I said in a friendly tone, no longer whispering.

She smiled back. "Thank you," she croaked in a weak voice.

I stood up. "Come on outside. We have more friends waiting there." I escorted her to the dick. She looked at Chithagu and gathered he was an animal—which at a basic level, he was—but looked at Baokiydu and Sdalsyra with surprise.

"Nice display of ball-breaking and castration." Dyal'xern commented on Qaurjaeda's handiwork, and footwork.

While Qaurjaeda laughed, Ruqojjen looked at the girl. "Don't worry. We'll stop the slavers." He was already thinking ahead. "Did they get the whole town?"

"Yes." The girl's voice was coming back. "Only after they filed into town did we realize their purpose."

"How big is the army unit?" Ruqojjen asked, knowing that she could give us some intel on the present military staff.

"Only about 200 or so, but they also have some magitek units equipped with flamethrowers."

Ruqojjen didn't flinch. "Old Imperial machines? Well they had some in Albrook, so why not in Maranda. Any army that could get its hands one some would upgrade them to its desire. Regardless, we can handle them."

The teenage girl looked surprised. "You can fight them so easily?"

"Of course," Dyal'xern responded. "We've done it before."

Though I myself couldn't claim such an accomplishment, the others could easily back that boast. I'd witnessed them in action. Shortly after I had met Ruqojjen and the others, they went on ambushes against Imperial scouting parties in the wilds. While our powers were less potent back then, the Imperials were nonetheless caught off guard by our likes. Imperials could deal with espers, but were fully unprepared for thinking individuals with powerful, non-magical skills and an essence that neutralized a scout patrol's level of magic. No spells worked against our team; fire spells did absolutely nothing, their magic beam guns proved equally worthless, sleep and slowing spells failed constantly, and we easily penetrated their magic defenses.

Of course, there were instances when magic limited our own capabilities. In places were magic was centralized like the Imperial capital, the magic essence outshined ours. Within a certain proximity of such areas, our strength would fade and we'd become light-headed. Entering the capital was out of the question. Killing off far-removed recon groups was the best we could do. Most of the time however, Ruqojjen wasn't slaying Imperial companies. He was trying to reason with the Council and convince them to lend their abilities to a worthy cause. His attempts were met with refusal.

"Who are you?" The girl asked.

Ruqojjen patted her on the shoulder. "We'll explain later."

"Don't worry about those flamethrowers. Being immune to fire is part of what it's like to be us." Dyal'xern tightened his fist. "Plus, fire can't exist without air to breathe, and air is _mine_ to play with." His Pirusymn stone emitted a glow and the space around his fist became blurry.

As if on cue, the steady thumping of heavy objects against the concrete dock floor was heard. It was slowly getting closer, like pile-drivers that could move as they rose and fell. Only one kind of vehicle made such a noise.

Ruqojjen looked at the Marandan boat. The last of the slaves were being marched up the loading ramps, and the old magitek units were scouting for any stragglers. "Update of plans," he said. "Since the Duke has no reserve about letting habitual rapists fight in his army, we kill all the soldiers, whether they fight us or not." He looked at the girl. "I doubt you were that bastard's first prey. I'm sure others like him committed such acts in this raid." The teenager frowned darkly. "Since we now have a solid idea of their numbers, annihilating them will be much easier. We'll start with the heavier pieces, then draw out the rest, as we discussed earlier." Qaurjaeda and Dyal'xern cracked their knuckles, while Sdalsyra clenched her fist. A thick fluid the color of dark indigo oozed from between her fingers.

Dyal'xern kicked off the operation, literally. As the armor units marched toward the closest ramp, he walked behind the rearmost unit, leapt into the air, and threw a roundhouse kick. A short, blurry object rocketed from his foot and slammed into the opening at the rear of the armor's hull. The machine staggered. As the other five armor pilots heard their comrade shout, smoke billowed from the unit Dyal'xern had struck. The machine toppled backwards, and the pilot jumped from his fallen mechanical steed, at which point Dyal'xern smashed his face apart with some blurry punches.

As a second unit turned and was now stomping toward him, Dyal'xern leapt up again, this time sending a back flip kick toward the pilot. The blur tore through the wind visor and slammed into the armor's control bank, causing a small explosion. The pilot screamed as his face and hands were lacerated by shards of metal and plastic, until a second, larger blast threw him from his seat with a gashed chest. His body landed as the armor's legs buckled, sending another unit to the ground useless.

The other four pilots had turned their steeds toward their attacker, only to realize Dyal'xern was not alone. An armor with large robotic claws was marching toward its fallen partners when Qaurjaeda appeared from behind an oil drum stack and grabbed the left arm. With greater strength than what he'd used on the broadsword, he ripped the arm off at its elbow joint and tossed it upwards like a javelin, where it crushed its pilot's head. In slumping over the controls, the corpse jostled levers and caused the walking vehicle to fall forwards.

Sdalsyra emerged and threw some dark blobs at the legs of the nearest unit. They splashed upon the knee joins and eroded the material. The weakened legs broke apart as the machine's top section collapsed upon its broken limbs. As it fell, she made a long, wire-thin lash from another slime wad and swung at the unsuspecting pilot's neck. It wrapped itself around, and with a tug from Sdalsyra, the man was decapitated.

By now, some yelling could be heard from the boat. The last two pilots were demanding reinforcements. Squadrons of foot soldiers, much faster than their magitek toys, were charging down the ramp.

"Alright, now we move." Ruqojjen spurred the rest of us to action. His plan was working. Dyal'xern, Qaurjaeda, and Sdalsyra had gotten the attention of the troops, who were all focusing on them. The rest of us would slip by the distracted army unit, taking out the bastards in our passing. As Baokiydu extended the blades from his palms, the girl was still in awe watching the other three Pung Thoshidai, who took out the remaining armor pilots and many of the charging infantrymen. Clearly their abilities were nothing she expected. Qaurjaeda's performance earlier was but a fraction of what any of them could do.

"Everything will be explained later," I assured her. "For now, just stay close by us." She nodded and we joined the combat.

I shaped my tongue into a claw-like one with spikes, lancing it into the throats of passing Marandan troops. Baokiydu went to town with his palm blades, swinging them about, severing heads and opening stomachs. I barely made out Ruqojjen spear-handing the soldiers, killing them in same manner as he did Tzen's undiplomatic Envoy, his focused speed to quick for the troops to notice, let alone prepare for. Chithagu caught on quickly, goring the adversaries with his horns, slashing them with his tail, clawing at them and chewing on their necks and faces. Our small number meant nothing next to our abilities. The troops here only expected to kidnap townsfolk. They were ill-prepared for opponents with talents like ours.

Bodies were tossed left and right as the five of us ascended the ramp, some falling to the ramp surface, others into the ocean below. Most charged past us, for the bulk of the soldiers being taken down by our three comrades below. Only once did I get knocked down by a man with a tower shield. Before I got to my feet, Chithagu pounced on the man, pinning him under his own thick shield, where he slammed his claws into the guy's neck. Chithagu himself had been grazed by a bullet and a few arrows, but he'd manage. We all could heal ourselves after this was done.

When we reached the top, Ruqojjen sent a kick to the face of a soldier, crushing the woman's head between the wall and his foot. Suddenly a loud clanging was heard. The ramp was slowly rising like a draw bridge. The commander must've initiated the control crew to leave in haste.

"They're leaving," cried the excited girl. "What about the others?"

Baokiydu laughed, his dry throat voice still apparent. "They'll join us. Watch."

On the dock below, the last of the soldiers had been killed, making the harbor look like a messy butcher shop. As the ramp lifted more, Sdalsyra reached upward. Another long slime wad shot out from her hand, its end sticking to the wall near the hatchway. She jumped and on one motion swiftly reeled herself up next to the entry way, where she leapt down and joined us.

Dyal'xern was next. With great agility, he leapt high and stopped in midair, the space beneath his feet getting blurry. He leapt again, his long hair and loin cloths flowing behind him, before landing higher on yet another fuzzy, semi-transparent 'ledge'. One more jump and he was alongside us on the loading platform.

Squatting, Qaurjaeda jumped forward and upward with great force. He sailed through the space between the dock and the hatchway and passed over us as he came inside. I turned around and saw him land…very gently on a light fixture that hung down from the high ceiling. It didn't even quiver when he landed on it. He let go of the lamp and slowly descended to the metallic floor.

A few more soldiers came from around the hallway corner, but we easily dispatched them. After kneeing the last man in the face and slashing his throat with another slime wire, Sdalsyra turned back to our party. "Is that all of 'em", she asked, squeezing splattered blood out from her long hair.

"We'll divide up and find out," Ruqojjen ordered. "I'll pay a visit to the control room and make the crew turn around for Albrook. Qaurjaeda, Baokiydu, clear the upper decks. The rest of you get the Captain. We'll regroup at his quarters." Once he finished, we split up.

Our group encountered and pulverized the last few soldiers and Captain's Guard. The soldiers who fought us were killed. The ones who didn't fight were also killed, snuffed out before they had a chance to grovel for mercy. We'd never allow them to annoy us like that. Actually, Dyal'xern and Sdalsyra did the forefront ass-kicking by this point, with Chithagu bringing up the rear. I stayed by the awestruck girl, who kept smiling every time a Marandan soldier was dispatched in some untidy fashion.

The final remains of the Captain's Guard were brutally discharged from the service. As Dyal'xern impaled a senior guard with a blurry spike, Sdalsyra covered the second guardsman's head with a slime blob. She dealt a high kick to his face, and both head and glob splattered like an egg on the kitchen floor. With no more underlings to protect the Captain, we stormed his quarters. Had he been planning to evacuate, we'd never given him the chance. The aged Captain did little more than demand we leave his ship. Clearly this lazy ass was used to others doing his handiwork for him.

Dyal'xern, the first one who stormed inside, approached the ship commander. The tall Pung Thoshidei swung his elbow, and another blur went flying across the room, nailing the man in the face and sending him to the carpeted floor. As the Captain groaned, Dyal'xern picked him up by his bleeding nose. The Captain started gasping. "What's wrong old timer? Can't breather the extra thin air?" Dyal'xern smirked egocentrically. "I've said it before. Air and its properties are mine to play with. I've made your supply too thin to sustain you." The Captain gasped one last time before falling limp on the floor, dead.

"Look," the overly excited girl called out, pointing to something on the desktop, a ring with keys on it.

"Oh, the keys to the cargo hold." Sdalsyra said in a much calmer tone. "You have a good eye, but we don't need the keys." The girl calmed down, understanding Sdalsyra's implications.

"Now's the best time to explain everything," Ruqojjen proclaimed, having returned from the control room. "One of the steersmen argued with me, but his broken facial bones convinced his peers not to." Qaurjaeda and Baokiydu appeared behind him, both covered in blood, none of it their own.

Once at the cargo hold's doors, Dyal'xern looked down at the girl. "Watch this." He made some flat-palm hand movements. With a horizontal motion, he swung at the locks. They broke cleanly against his swift hands. "And it's not messy." He eyed Qaurjaeda, who grunted while sliding door open.

Inside, there were thousands of captured townspeople. They did not look well. They appeared gaunt from starvation and weak from sickness. The blonde girl announced our entry. "We've been saved," she called out, pointing to us. As a Lagionite, she would be credible. Those closest to the door gathered near us, gawking at some of our appearances. That was expected. Ruqojjen knew it was time to give a little speech.

At the far end of the cargo hold was a stack of high crates that rose above the occupants' heads. Gesturing for us to follow, the High Shenthaxa led us through the bewildered crowd. At the hold's far end he climbed atop the high crate using a nearby staircase on wheels, us following right behind him. At the top he cleared his throat. "Greetings, people of Lagione. I know that some of my associates have, shall I say, oddities to their appearance. Do not be startled by this. We are not your enemy. We oppose the Duke and his slave-taking practices." Ruqojjen's voice filled the room even without the use of a mic, as if the Divine itself was speaking through him.

He introduced himself, then us one by one. While a High Shenthaxa was unheard of to them, they rightly assumed it was a title of great importance. He explained about Jrysthovuh, though they knew nothing of it. He said we'd take them back to our claimed Albrook where they'd receive more thorough information on the Spirit Stream and the Divine. Naturally, the freed slaves cheered in approval.

At the conclusion of his speech some twenty minutes later, the freed captives burst out in applause. They looked up at Ruqojjen, seeing him as a beacon of hope. This brought a smile to his pale face. Though he was unable to save our exiled people before the great collapse, he did not fail these slaves of Lagione. When the cheering silenced, they dispersed throughout the ship's levels.

Some of the freed slaves took weapons from the dead soldiers and headed to the control room, to keep a watchful eye on the crew. The rest of us followed Ruqojjen up to the deck outside. The Marandan flag waved proudly in the breeze. "Since this is no longer under Marandan control, lower that flag Baokiydu, and dispose of it," the Shenthaxa directed. Baokiydu pulled down on the flag cable, lowering the banner from the short post, tearing it off the pole and crumpling it up. His hands started glowing, the color of a heated stove burner, or a ripe carrot, as the flag was incinerated in his grasp.

As Baokiydu tossed the ashes overboard, Ruqojjen pressed some buttons on his wrist cuff and placed it against his ear. "Mission completed. Take the land cruiser back to Albrook. Have our port ready for this ship we've taken."

When he finished addressing our counterparts, the girl, who was still tagging along with us, spoke up. "You know, this is not the first time we've been oppressed like this, having a military unit raid our town."

"Go on," Ruqojjen prodded.

"Six years ago during Imperial rule, Maranda was torched in one of their campaigns. While the capitol was the most known victim, other towns suffered as well. Ours was merely one." Sdalsyra placed a hand on the younger woman's shoulder. The girl went on. "I've heard many things about the Officer who led that campaign, about benevolence and a change of heart, about deeds with heroes and saving…" She fought back tears, as though she felt let down or lied to in some way. "Why would such virtuous people allow this to befall us when they claim to oppose such actions?"

Ruqojjen looked her in the eye. "My dear, the honestly benevolent would not. But…" his compassionate face became grim "deceiving hypocrites would." Sdalsyra and Baokiydu nodded in agreement. "Their true manifesto is to save something so they can have it for themselves. I know their kind. I've dealt with the hypocritical and ignorant before. My homeland is governed by such people. That's why I formulated the plan to establish our own sect. Of course, while it's an obvious goal, forming our new domain is not the ultimate one." The following silence on the girl's part suggested she had tons of questions, unsure of which to ask first. "Just wait for us to get back to Albrook. You'll get answers there."

She just smiled as Dyal'xern and Qaurjaeda offered looks of consolation. I reached down and pet Chithagu as Ruqojjen's glare softened, thoughts of those scheming, lying hypocrites replaced by more positive ones; the addition of new allies, and the knowledge that Maranda's Duke would lose more than his grunts, slaves, and slave ship.


	13. The Ominous Shade

**Chapter 13: The Ominous Shade**

Gau took a drink of his root beer. "So the Professor's lab's been demolished?"

I bit into my lobster tail before answering. "Not quite. The building itself is still standing, but the equipment and preserved specimens were all destroyed in the monster's rampage."

"What about Cid and his assistants?" Relm asked as she started on her vanilla custard.

I had some plans for the day. I did some babysitting in the morning, and since I had no blitz lessons, I decided to check in on Relm and Gau. We agreed to lunch together since we were all free during the hour. "They're okay. A few scrapes and bruises, but nothing major. The monster was more intent on destroying their lab utilities. Oh, and Edgar's got a cover story of 'lab accident'."

"Why's that?" Gau asked.

"So the press isn't informed on every detail, in case these 'chosen' are studying our reactions. Only our close circle can know the truth."

Gau had already polished off his meal, and Relm was a few bites away from doing such. I finished the last of my garlic bread sticks as Gau stood and stretched. Relm leaned back against him. "So what's on your agenda next?" she asked while Gau stroked a hand through her dark blonde ponytail.

I bit into the last bread stick. "I'm going to chat with someone who's known Leonard longer than we have, Cyan's military Staff Sergeant, Rodney Hayne. He and Leonard go back a few years." I swallowed the last bread piece and we left the diner.

Gau nodded when we got to the street. "Oh that guy. I recall him. Flattop, cigar, Kohlingenite accent." He continued stroking Relm's back, then stopped to give a rather humorous compliment. "Hey Relm, nice bra."

She smiled. "Why thank you Ga….hey, you fucking peeper!"

Gau just laughed. "I don't have to peek, Relm. It's hanging down quite a ways." He gently pointed to her forearm, where a red strap dangled out from under her pink tank top.

Relm dropped her mouth open. Her cheeks flushed red, almost as red as her bra strap. "Oh fuck," she gasped self-consciously, lifting the runaway strap.

I patted her on the back. "Welcome to womanhood, Relm. Think of strap problems as a rite of passage experience."

"Thanks Terra. I don't call you 'Big Sis' for nothing." She even laughed a bit before Gau suggested they return to the academy.

We said good-byes and parted ways. I assumed Rodney would be at the military command center near Figaro Castle. The diner wasn't far from there, so I arrived quickly at a brisk walk. My intention was to catch the Staff Sergeant on a lunch break, as I believed he'd be taking one right about now.

The guards at the entrance recognized me. "Good day, Ms. Terra Branford. Have you come to see King Edgar or General Garamonde?"

"No. I'm actually looking for Staff Sergeant Hayne. Is he around?"

"You're in luck. You should find him in the break room. You know your way around here, right?"

"Yeah, thanks." I walked inside and down the hallway.

Sure enough, I found Rodney in the break room, seated at a table in the corner, drinking coffee and eating a glazed doughnut while reading a newspaper. As he was indoors, he was not smoking a cigar. "Rodney, can I talk with you for a moment?"

The NCO looked up from his newspaper and smiled. "Well, if it ain't the lady with the pretty hair, a friend of the King and General Garamonde. Sure, take a seat." I pulled out the chair across from him. "You're the one who kept Leonard outta the obits more than a month back. So whatcha want with me?"

"Since you and Leonard go back quite a bit, I'd like to talk about him."

Rodney swallowed a mouthful of coffee. "Well, as you know already, Leonard's one eccentric SOB. He's not as plain as he might look." Rodney picked up on my apprehension. His jovial smile sagged. "Why?"

My lip curled, but I contained my tension. "Can you tell me about his past in Narshe?"

Rodney's smile was gone. "I'm sorry, but I just can't spill details like that. I don't think he'd want you to know all the ins and outs this soon."

"But I know some already." Rodney looked puzzled, so I explained the train station encounter.

The Sergeant gagged a couple times before swallowing his doughnut piece. "So his history's no longer under wraps. He was very specific that folks like me an' the moogles not chat about that personal matter. But seein' as the cat's outta the bag now, what are you curious about?"

I paused, trying to ask in a soft tone. "Why is he getting whipped for things he didn't do? What exactly did his father do?"

Rodney put down the paper and folded his hands. "I'm not willin' to give you all the details, but surely you can get some of your answers elsewhere, so I can tell you this much. Julus Gurosawn was a real cocksucker. The guy was schemin', greedy, and a conceited narcissist. He ripped me off more than once, bribed some military people, and that soon resulted in me gettin' a pay cut. Worse, the brass even denied me a promotion. I coulda been an officer by now had it not been for that fucker's meddlin'."

This was interesting, but didn't fully answer my questions about Leonard's father. "I've heard he did something to the entire town. What was it?" I asked with uncertainty, as I wasn't sure if Rodney would answer. In all honesty, I couldn't blame him for withholding the details. He was Leonard's close friend, one of the few the Narshean ever had, until recently.

"He did lots a' things, none of em' good for anyone, 'cept for a few select individuals close to him."

"Like the Braslinos and the Major?" I questioned in hopes to could keep the conversation going.

"That's right. I guess Leonard told you 'bout them already." He finished his doughnut and took a last sip of coffee. "I think I've spilt enough beans for now. I'm sure you understand. Returner or not, this is still some private shit we're talkin' about."

"Yes, I don't want to pry." I let my eyes fall to the tabletop, disappointed that I'd be leaving with little more info than I'd arrived with, but not surprised.

"Why are ya' so interested?" Unexpectedly, Rodney was now asking me the questions, though I was up for answering his.

I regarded his sunken eyes with my green ones. "Maybe it's the fact I saved his life personally. But I also feel some…connection. I feel that he's hurting in some way, and I want to reach out and help him, but I can't until I know what he's been through. How do I….inquire?"

He threw his empty cup into the garbage can behind him. "First, think about why you feel this connection. Maybe if you let him in on your life, he'll open up to you. Knowin' what I do, I will presume he's unfamiliar with your secrets, your history of enslavement and your ancestry."

While my Returner status was public knowledge, my forced-allegiance to the Empire and my half-esper background were far from dinnertime conversation topics. As a military person, Rodney knew these things, for Edgar had briefed all military personnel in Narshe and Figaro about my powers during our battle against Gestahl. Back then, it was classified information. Nowadays, no one really cared, but I didn't advertise my heritage left and right.

"You mean tell Leonard I'm a half-esper?" I nearly fell out of my chair. "Are you sure?"

"If anyone's gonna think ill of you for that, it sure as fuck ain't Leonard. Ditto for your slave crown ordeal. Just be cautious in how ya' say it. Don't give the poor fella a heart attack."

"That's not what I have in mind," I said, prompting a grin from Rodney.

"Of course it ain't." He looked at the watch under his wrist cuff. "Ya' know, it's been a nice chat, but my break's over. As I often said to Leonard, duty's callin'." He stood up and grabbed his newspaper. "If ya' wanna talk more, you know where to find me. Tah tah." He left the break room. With nothing else to do here, I did the same.

I honestly didn't know how Leonard would react to my half-esper lineage. When the others found out, they'd known me for quite a while, and they'd seen other espers before learning of my bloodline. Leonard and I had known each other for scarcely a month and a half, and he was ignorant of all things magical. Was it too soon to break the news? Sure, I'd already hinted at my being a slave to the Imperials, but I was not the first person to be stricken with memory loss or be forced into serving the Empire.

However, I was the only half-esper, both on Sayitheren and beyond. My very being was beyond humanity, beyond this world.

But if my Returner friends could accept me for it, why couldn't Leonard.

It was time to begin the discussion.

_change in s & n_

"See you tomorrow Charlie."

"Toodles Leonard." My colleague at the farm said good-bye. I left him to his work and went on my usual route to the train station. And guess who was sitting at one of the benches, as if waiting for me with great anticipation.

Terra stood up as I approached, tossing a lock of mint green hair over her shoulder. "Leonard, I think it's time for another talk."

I looked back and saw the train coming. "Of course. It's a good hour back to Narshe. A conversation helps pass the time."

We took seats on one of the cushioned benches against the wall, giving us a view out the window across from us. As the train started moving, Terra broke the ice. "Leonard, you really never saw Tritoch?"

"Huh? What the hell is that?"

"Tritoch was the name of the esper discovered in the mines of Narshe."

I shook my head. "In that case, no. I didn't want to. That esper was seen as a black mark on the town."

She didn't look surprised. "So you have no opinion about espers at all?"

"Well not exactly. I formulated one, though in this magic-less age, I no longer think about."

Terra leaned forward, folding her hands in her lap. "Would you mind sharing it with me?"

There was a strange tone of eagerness in her voice. I hoped she wouldn't get emotional on me again. Since she and her friends had used esper magic before, it made sense that she'd ask about my thoughts on the subject. Why else would she be so eager?

Not one to decline an interview from a special young woman, I answered. "I heard that espers were a nasty lot, savage, bloodthirsty creatures that reveled in causing pain and suffering to humans, and each other. I may not read the newspaper much, but I'm not historically ignorant. I know about the War of the Magi, a global conflict that nearly destroyed this world and imposed centuries worth of technological setbacks on those who survived. It was all the doing of espers and their magic."

She leaned back and looked down at the floor, sighing. "You wouldn't be the first person to think that way. Many people viewed them as creatures of pure wrath and untamed rage. I can't blame a person for thinking along those lines." The eagerness was gone from her voice, replaced with something else that I couldn't put my finger on. She seemed…hurt.

I didn't say anything. I just waited for her to elaborate. After five minutes, she spoke again. "So did you hear about the accident?"

"What, an esper accident?"

Terra shook her head. "No. The laboratory accident."

That was strange. First, I'd never heard of any such accident, and second, why had she changed the topic of discussion to drastically?

I just did what I could, showed that I was totally clueless. "Nope. What's that?"

She didn't appear sensitive now, though I didn't get her sudden change of mood. "It happened in Cid's lab not long ago." She leaned in close, as if she didn't want anyone to overhear. "It was called an accident in the press, but it was really some leech monster going nuts in the lab. It washed ashore at the beach and was brought in for examination. During that, it woke up and tore the place apart, destroying the lab equipment and putting Cid's research team in the hospital. The Shedairah samples were destroyed as well. Needless to say, the lab's out of commission."

A new monster, just what we all needed, more questions and no answers. "What did they do with the creature?"

We'd left Figaro City quite a while ago, and were now riding northeast, cutting through the Hyaxulan Mountains. Terra glanced at the trees and mountains speeding past outside the window. On the opposite railway, a train bound for Figaro sped past ours. "It actually melted upon death. There's nothing to study, even with a working lab." Terra was whispering, mindful not to be overheard. The people across from us were napping, and the ones in the seat beside ours were engaged in their own chatter. "From what Cid and his techs told the military, the monster seemed very interested in ransacking the lab, as though it was deliberately tearing apart the munitions."

I shuddered. "Like a mission of sorts? You mean we had another 'thinking' monster on our hands? Did it talk?"

"Before Edgar and the military staff killed it, he asked it about being 'chosen', twice. It said nothing and just roared like your average beast. But with ambitions to destroy the lab, it was anything but average."

"If that's the case, how did it get here?" I had trouble believing it had just randomly drifted to Figaro's beach.

Terra sounded as doubtful as I did. "I think it came here on its own. It deliberately looked harmless and docile at first. Its fury began suddenly, without warning."

"Now approaching Narshe," the train conductor's voice announced through the loudspeaker. I could see windmills, generators, and house roofs appearing among the greenery.

Terra leaned back. "For caution, Edgar's keeping the truth a secret, calling it an 'accident'. Of course, I have full permission to tell the real story to you and the others. Just keep it a secret from anyone else."

I chuckled, lightening the mood. "Who are you asking here? I'm no stranger to confidentiality."

"No you're not," she said with a laugh.

The train made its first stop in Narshe, dropping off several of the car's occupants while more people from outside filed in, taking their place. Silence passed between us as the train arrived at and departed from the next stop on its route. Chit-chat or not, I really was enjoying her company. Of course, I made no attempt to wrap my arm around her shoulder or place my hand on her thigh.

The train came to its next stop, with people exiting and entering the car. As it started up again, Terra got my attention. "Leonard, there's more than that."

Once again, I was thoroughly clueless. "More than what, and to what? The lab accident?"

"Ghih…" she smiled bashfully, stuttering. "I mean, more to espers."

Now she was back to espers again. Why did she change the discussion before adding this part? "Okay, I'm listening."

I waited for her to begin, but she just kept saying 'well' and 'um', either tongue-tied or unable to translate her thoughts into phrases. I sat there, confused.

The train stopped again. "Haggleston Plaza Station." The conductor announced this stop by name as the train pulled alongside the platform.

"That's my stop," Terra announced as she stood up. "Thank you for the conversations. I really enjoy talking with you."

"Same here," was all I could say before the crowd of departing passengers forced her outside. I had no chance to inquire more about espers.

Why did she sound self-conscious when talking about that? That she changed the subject made sense if she didn't want to discuss it, but to mention it a second time? Something was off. Terra was still full of mysteries to me.

_Maybe she's hitting on you discreetly, _suggested the little voice behind my eyeballs. _She's confusing you to perk your curiosity and draw you in. _I had to admit, that prospect was entertaining, but was it the truth?

As the train went on its way, I realized just how mystifying this woman was.

_change in s & n_

Dinner was finished, and we were now going about other activities.

We'd cleared 'The Baroness Margo' of anything useful. The last thing we needed was for a missing Marandan ship to be spotted in our port, so Qaurjaeda was tasked with sinking the hijacked vessel.

I'd fed Chithagu a generous helping of table scraps, and assumed he was now napping in the vicinity of his shitting box. Presently, Sdalsyra and I followed Ruqojjen to Albrook's dungeon complex. It was time to inspect the catches.

Thus far, Sdalsyra was the only female to possess the abilities of a Pung Thoshidei, and she took great pride in that. Her steadfast, 'Girl Power' viewpoint was how she caught the attention of Ruqojjen and Yithadri. Her ambitious feminism was empowering to all the women and girls of our movement, particularly when it came to the wretched practice that the Council dubbed 'robust breeding' (don't ask).

Two sentries were stationed at the prison entrance we approached, a young man with an axe and a slightly-older woman with a bow-gun. "Zranjihd," Ruqojjen greeted them, and the man replied back in kind.

The woman was a little more ambitious. "Gdajan takrien ung, Vreyunos Shenthaxa Kagasjori." She smiled enthusiastically.

Both the guards were Albrookers, but Ruqojjen had taught them some essential words and phrases in Jrysthovuhn. It was a way of expressing his gratitude for their conviction.

Of course, he also used the Standardized Sayitheren Dialect (SSD). "We're observing the catches."

Typically, the lighting in the dungeon was kept low, as most of the necessary lighting came in from the outside by way of the small, barred windows in each cell. However, because the sun had gone down by this time, the lights were increased. The scenery was basic; guards patrolled the halls at select intervals, the floors and walls were solid masonry. Stains and spills littered both, and vague smells of urine and feces underlined the place. It served as a constant reminder to the former nobles we'd captured; they weren't nobles any longer.

As we turned a corner in the dungeon halls, the smell of blood and decay grew more pronounced. Ruqojjen followed the stench with us close behind, and we came to the source.

In one of the cells, an ex-noble woman lay face down in a pool of dried blood. A blood-covered plastic table knife was loosely tucked in her right hand. The dead woman's cellmate, aged but very much alive, eyed the fatality from the corner of the cell, whimpering. At last he noticed our presence. "You," he stammered before pointing to the corpse. "That woman is dead."

Ruqojjen folded his arms. "I know that. So what?" Oddly, he chose to give the catch a response. Normally, he wouldn't dignify a sub-human with such acknowledgement.

This catch wasn't a noble or a soldier. He was a crew member from the Marandan slave ship. He weakly staggered toward us and leaned against the cell bars for support. "Can't you remove the body?"

Ruqojjen leaned in close. "I could do that," he reached into a coat pocket and briefly flashed his skeleton key that worked on all the holding cells "but what purpose would it serve? You'd easily forget what your actions ultimately cause the Divine. Better you see reality and karma up close."

"Besides dickhead," I cut in "you're in no position to make requests."

The prisoner stuttered, gasping. "Why….how….have you no sense of compassion?" His eyes went wide.

Ruqojjen could've answered that question positively. After all, he freed the slaves from this man's ship, the very people whom this sailor helped the Marandan army capture. Was that not compassionate? However, he chose an inquiring response. "Compassion? Since when does a slave trader deserve compassion?" He narrowed his eyes menacingly, his voice low, cold, and threatening, yet disciplined at the same time. "You partook in kidnapping underclass villagers from right out of their own homes, so they'd be forced to serve a wannabe-Palazzo. You helped control the ship transporting the army unit which committed the oppressive deed. You're just like the soldiers."

The bastard was cowering under the High Shenthaxa's dominating grimace. He recoiled some when Sdalsyra leaned in close, as the Pung Thoshidei provided a second contemptuous look. "You could have refused to do it, could have fled and broke association with the army. But you complied. Why?" Sdalsyra asked, her gleaming eyes fixed on the man.

"Survival, you say?" Ruqojjen stifled a laugh. "Well look at your survival now. You eat nothing but food scraps and have a rotting corpse for company. What has your compliance with the Duke brought you?" He pointed at the grimy prison cell, and at the dead woman in the back. "Maybe you need to observe what your actions bring more vividly. Sdalsyra, place some caustic phlegm on the ground."

"Right." The tall, female Pung Thoshidei opened her mouth and belched a glob of slime down on the masonry floor near the catch. The slime substance bubbled up as it touched the stone. When it vanished a second later, a gouge in the masonry was left in its place.

The man fell to his knees in shock, having seen but a fraction of Sdalsyra's abilities firsthand. As he struggled to get back up, Ruqojjen reached down, placed his fingers in the guy's nostrils, and jerked the man's face up to meet his. "That is what the Divine feels. That is exactly what it suffers, and you know why that is? Because people like the fucking Duke make it happen, and so do you, by obeying them."

Sdalsyra's glaring eyes narrowed. "How many women and girls were raped by the soldiers on your ship? How many did you rape yourself, huh?" Dark slime hung from her fingertips.

Pung Thoshidei or not, Sdalsyra was still a woman, and proud of it. Rapists and those who turned a blind eye to their actions were a sworn enemy of hers, and mine. We gave no quarter to sexual predators. Nothing else got under my skin like their kind. I remembered the girl we'd saved from such defilement in Lagione's dock house, a girl not much different than me. She'd been lucky we were passing at that moment to stop the soldier. Others before her hadn't been so fortunate.

Sdalsyra looked ready to toss acid onto the ex-sailor before us. "Another time, Sdalsyra," Ruqojjen said as he released the man. Though he wasn't concerned for the jailbird's well-being, he figured the man would serve a use. Otherwise, this captive would be dead by now. Sdalsyra blinked in surprise, but made the slime ooze its way back into her fingers. Ruqojjen gave the man another dirty look, grabbed him by the jacket of his dirty, tattered crew uniform, and threw him back forcefully, in the direction of the corpse.

He landed on his back, his face inches from the blood pool. He gasped once again. "Who…w-what are you?"

"The _Nyufalng._ Remember that name, in case it's the last one you ever hear." Ruqojjen pointed over his shoulder. "We've other shit to check out. Let's go." He continued down the hallway, Sdalsyra and me following him. "It's time to check the special catch. I wonder if he's leaned some manners yet." He was joking to himself about whom he considered the 'most valuable' of the captives.

"Why don't we just kill the bastard?" Sdalsyra questioned. "Considering his history, it'd be more logical to execute him and be done with it."

The High Shenthaxa led the way past more quiet cells. "I don't blame you for thinking that way, but he could be of great assistance to us."

I understood Sdalsyra's concern. If the 'special catch' wasn't containable, we'd have a serious problem. "Are you sure? Suppose he becomes a pariah to us?"

Sentries greeted us at the next hallway. Ruqojjen greeted them before answering. "If worse comes to worse, we'll dispose of the problem accordingly. I haven't ruled out the possibilities you mentioned. I'll deal with that problem should it arise."

At last, we came upon the isolated cell where the 'special catch' was housed. Baokiydu and Dyal'xern met us in the hallway. "The guy sure has a tolerance for pain, though that's hardly a surprise, knowing his credentials." Dyal'xern glanced at the window in the cell door. "Still, we can ware him down."

"Do whatever satisfies your curiosity about his stamina. Just remember the rule of nothing fatal." The High Shenthaxa regarded Baokiydu, who was tapping his foot restlessly. He looked ready to split until Ruqojjen addressed him. "Baokiydu, what's the status of the man's vitals?"

Baokiydu stopped and turned slowly. "His blood flow and breathing are stable. There's been no significant decrease in either." He sounded impatient, which was odd given the circumstances. He had something fascinating to observe, the health of the valued prisoner. That should've been more than enough to keep him out of boredom. Unless…

Ruqojjen was far more patient. "It's to be expected." He picked up on Baokiydu's wandering attention span, and how the Pung Thoshidei was constantly looking behind him. "Go see your…fans now."

"I get first dibs Dyal'xern. You get whoever's left." Baokiydu hastily vanished around a hall corner.

"Leftovers are fine. They all like me," Dyal'xern called after him before facing us. "All the girls love my secondary essence. They pay homage every night." He pointed with his thumb at his loin cloth, though he was clearly referencing what was behind it.

Sdalsyra put her hands on her hips, though she wasn't annoyed like a first glance would suggest. "The prisoner's health isn't all that's unwavering. Your ego remains steadfast too."

Dyal'xern laughed. "I've earned it." He followed Baokiydu down the hallway.

"Have fun," Ruqojjen said as Dyal'xern left. Once he was gone, the sentries near the doorway loosened the sliding bolts of the cell door and Ruqojjen went in, followed by Sdalsyra and me, to check on the 'special catch' personally.

The man was in his thirties. His build was fairly good-sized, but he'd lost some weight since he'd been here. His face was a mess of crudely trimmed whiskers that he'd cut with a plastic utensil. Stray facials hairs floated in the toilet. The man's meal, little more some bread crusts and a few potato skins, lay on a plate in the corner with a glass of water. Ruqojjen was very specific that this man be fed only bare-bones meals, a gradual starvation, though not to the point of death. The High Shenthaxa had other plans.

The man was slouched against the wall as we entered, with weights chained to his wrists and ankles to restrict movement. The three of us looked him down in his state of half sleep. A couple bruises were on his chest and face, no doubt courtesy of Dyal'xern and Baokiydu. When the guy opened his eyes and saw us, he snapped awake and took a deep breath. "FUCK YOU," he bellowed, his voice echoing off the masonry walls and ceiling of the prison cell.

Ruqojjen only frowned, more in amusement than anything else. "Still unrefined. You won't be that way forever. You'll learn some respect."

"Fuck you," the man spat again, just not as loud.

Ruqojjen eyed the man. "You know, if it weren't for that kind of hostility, you wouldn't even be here. But you had to get belligerent. You declared me an enemy, so I treated you as such."

"I told you already. I'm not answering shit." The man pointed at Ruqojjen, than at himself, causing his chains to rattle against the stone floor.

The leader of the Nyufalng snickered. "Fine, because I'm not asking you shit. That puts us on the same wavelength."

The man was infuriated with Ruqojjen's answer. He tried to stand, but the weights shackled to his wrists were spread out, thus letting him rise to a crouch only. He lacked the strength to pull them closer. "Than what do you want, you fucking prick?

"With that kind of animosity, maybe I shouldn't tell you," Ruqojjen said calmly. "You'll find out soon enough." The man fell back into a slouched position as the Shenthaxa went on. "And to think, I was trying to help you out. You're nothing but a two-bit crook, by your admission. For someone who hates himself, you certainly enjoy being the dregs of society. Your disloyalty those who believed in you speaks volumes by itself."

Behind Ruqojjen, I looked at Sdalsyra at the mention of disloyalty. How would this man ever be useful if he was that disloyal? Sdalsyra shook her head, silently voicing her agreement with me. Why was Ruqojjen keeping this man alive here? What purpose would the captive serve? Bait, a sparring dummy, or something more complicated?

Whatever it was, Ruqojjen had plans. This prisoner would comply with them.

"I'm not the one I despise most right now. That would you, motherfucker." The prisoner's enraged response brought our attention back to him.

Ruqojjen walked over to the corner, where the man's dining plate lay. He picked it up, regarding the scraps on top. "So ungrateful. Surely you could eat this much, especially if you're starving. You ate less than half of what I gave you." He did not speak with a taunting voice, merely one of honesty. "You don't want it? Fine. You won't get it." He dumped the food scraps into the toilet bowl, where they splashed in the dirty water and floated among the severed whiskers. "You know that refusal to eat will cause your death at some point."

The captive almost grinned before scowling. "That's better than fulfilling your…plans for me. If you wanted me dead, you'd have killed me already. Whatever role you have in store, I'll die before I take it."

The High Shethaxa grinned broadly. "Well thank you for telling me," he laughed. "It's great to know whatever secrets you're thinking. And I didn't even have to ask. I knew you'd learn some etiquette." The man's eyes filled with rage as he stared at us, stunned and wordless. He'd taken bait that Ruqojjen didn't even throw out for him. "Since you loath our company, we'll leave you to your own isolated self."

We exited the jail cell, leaving the man to rot in his dank captivity. The guards secured the cell door as Ruqojjen gave them the dinner plate and told them to wash it for later. He also instructed them to put the prisoner on suicide watch in case the man got cute.

We left the guards and 'special catch' behind and departed the dungeon complex. It was time to check on Qaurjaeda's demolition progress, so our next stop was the harbor.

Sure enough, Qaurjaeda did his job well. He could make a mess and not have to clean it up this time, only let it sink. The Marandan boat was dropping down into the ocean waters. It was very symbolic. One of Maranda's greatest sea vessels was sinking downward. I hoped it would be an omen, for Maranda's ruling government deserved to sink as well.

As the evening waves engulfed the destroyed slave trade vessel, a dark object sprang off the sinking deck. As the object got closer, we could see it was Qaurjaeda. He sped through the air to our position on the dock, and came down slowly from his 'anti-grav' leap. He softly landed on all his feet at once. "Task fulfilled," he laughed while gazing out at his work and letting Sdalsyra lean against him. "How are those we freed from that ship doing?"

Ruqojjen watched the boat sink deeper, waves already splashing across the deck. "They took to our ideas very quickly. All we had to do was show them the truth. Needless to say, they feel ripped off and disillusioned."

Qaurjaeda squeezed Sdalsyra's ass, and she in turn stroked one of his horns. "What exactly did you show them?" she asked, brushing her hand across Qaurjaeda's forehead.

"The kind of weaponry Albrook's House was stockpiling, and what the House did to its people. If that weren't enough, I also got the receipt for the weapon shipment. A certain signature is on it. They flew into a rage of course, feeling betrayed and cheated."

The ocean had flooded the deck and was now splashing against the smokestacks, flagpoles, and broken radio receptors. I looked up at Ruqojjen, whose eyes were still fixed on the sinking symbol of Marandan tyranny. "Did you remind them it's not the first time he's supported a power-hungry dictatorship?"

"Of course. Against their ideal hopes, they did realize he spent a solid decade doing just that. Such actions are a staple for his kind. He's clearly unfit for his position."

Qaurjaeda's free hand tightened into a fist. "Fucking incompetence," he growled. "A ruler dies and his inexperienced, unqualified teenage son takes his place, no questions asked? And they call that shit a government?"

Sdalsyra ran her finger along his cheek. "It's not a government. It's a pathetic joke. Leadership is earned, not inherited." She was right. Leadership was not legitimately received based on someone's lineage or the size of their bank account. It was earned through abilities and knowledge.

"So what's next?" I asked the Nyufalng chief.

He looked at me now, as nothing but foam and air bubbles marked the ship's place. "A few agents are tying up a personal loose end, but it's got a twist, a little extra content that will surely make a difference." He explained this twist in detail.

It was getting dark and the wind was picking up. With nothing left to see at the harbor, we headed back to the palace. Sdalsyra placed her hand on Qaurjaeda's armored shoulder. "Who are these agents?"

"Some exiles I tracked down. Their competence has increased since I found them. They're ambitious enough to try this. It's like a test for them. The Moihzadu is still recuperating, if you were curious. Ignorant and hypocritical as our enemies might be, they're not incompetent. If the exiles meet a grisly demise, they're expendable. This is a chance for them to impress me, for lack of a better term."

Qaurjaeda stuck his hand into a back pocket of Sdalsyra's jeans, to which she responded by tickling his chin. "Like you said earlier, foresight. You think ahead like a true leader. You've more foresight than the elders of the Council. You and Yithadri are more deserving of such a high status."

And in time, the Council would lose that status. There'd be no Council.

_change in s & n_

"Locke and Celes await me. If I'm not needed here, I'll take my leave, Sire."

"Go ahead. This meeting doesn't pertain to military activities." I dismissed Cyan, who bowed before leaving the conference chamber.

During the week, Cid's ankle healed and his aides were released from the hospital. There hadn't been any reports of monster activity. For now, things were quiet. It felt awkward and tantalizing to just sit and wait for monster news.

Not that we could sit around doing nothing. We had a new issue to deal with.

We sat around the table in the front of my conference chamber, with documents and charts spread out before us. Charise handed me a packet detailing costs for parts and labor. "You said it yourself. It would happen. You were right once again, Edgar."

"I _predicted_ it. That doesn't mean I _hoped_ for it. And I didn't think it would be this costly." My wife's attempt at stroking my ego did little to lighten my mood, but it was appreciated. I reached under the table and stroked her thigh before addressing our company.

Two others were present at this meeting. The first was Pierre Gurdeaux, who'd been Figaro's Chancellor since my father's rule. He was a trusted advisor to both of us, and I was relying on his years of judgment and experience for this matter.

The second man, some two decades younger than Pierre, was Antonio Larsone, Figaro's Minister of the Treasury. He was in charge of finances, budgets, and money production.

He was also in charge of this meeting's purpose; taxes.

"So what's the least we can expect, Minister?" At formal business meetings like this, I made sure to call my staff by their title.

Antonio put his hands together and looked down at the paperwork. "The whole project looks like it will run 50,000,000 Figaroan Gold Ponsteas, if not more. Digging up ground, laying the pipe work, connecting it to existing lines, than covering it is pricey. Such labor is rigorous, as expensive as it is time-consuming."

I rested my chin upon my fist, looked over the figures in the packet. I knew that building add-ons to Figaro City's water distribution utilities wouldn't be free, but I never expected it to have such overwhelmingly high monetary requirements. "So in order to complete the upgraded plumbing system as planned, a tax increase is necessary?"

I knew the answer before it appeared within Antonio's green-gray eyes. "Your Majesty, it is unavoidable for such a tremendous undertaking."

I'd never built a city-wide plumbing system from scratch before. The one that pre-dated Figaro City was small, just enough to supply a lone castle in the desert region. Other city-states within my kingdom had their own measures for H20 needs. South Figaro was along a fertile coast region, where dense humidity caused rainfall aplenty. Kohlingen, though not situated directly on the coast, still had the right weather to fulfill their water needs. Kohlingen was on the Lucaissa Plains, where thunder showers from the coast hit with regularity all year round.

Narshe was also blessed with nature-driven water sources. Hail storms filled the town's percolation ponds with frozen rain that got used upon melting. If that weren't enough, snow melted on the mountains' lower altitudes when spring came, forming brooks and streams that flowed right into Narshean water utilities.

That left the new capital of my dynasty. Figaro City stared as a modest settlement for refuges displaced from their hometowns after the great collapse. When urbanization and industry followed, plans for a full town were soon in the works. I thought running new extensions of plumbing out from the castle would prove adequate. But now, I was realized it wasn't enough.

Taxes would have to be increased, there no was question about that now. Water was a necessity of life. I wouldn't deny any to my subjects. Heavy taxation however, wasn't something I wanted to impose. There was no getting around a tax increase at this point, but how much would the increase have to be? "I see. If that's the case, how much will we have to raise it?" I tried sounding objective and professional, but couldn't hide the grimness I felt.

Antonio flipped through the stack of papers, pulling out one. "That all depends on who you tax. It will be a smaller increase if more people supply the amount. That would require a national increase for all Figaroan city-states."

I leveled my eyes at the packet again. Increasing taxes was enough of a dilemma. I was hardly intent on becoming the next Gestahl, so I decided on the fair solution. "Since this impending drought only concerns this city, I think a local tax is just." Pierre and Charise nodded, lifting my spirits slightly.

Minster Larsone shuffled through the paper stack. "If that is your decision, we'll take into account Figaro City's population. With an approximate 1.2 million residents, the total cost of the plumbing upgrade would require no less than 42 GP from each of them. Of course, since children and tax-exempt persons won't be paying, those who'll pay shall have to offer more than that."

I gulped down hard, pondering Antonio's response. My people were already practicing water conservation. I'd hoped that would lower any potential costs of this project. That got me thinking. In the interest of fairness, not everyone would be paying the same amount. "I think there's another way. Rather than increasing every taxpayer's debt, we can increase it based upon each one's total water consumption. Those who use more water will have a higher increase. That way, those who don't use excess amounts won't feel the brunt of the taxation."

"Give back what you take, essentially. That makes sense," Pierre offered, endorsing my solution.

"But that would still place the burden upon those who need water in large amounts regularly," Charise pointed out "like the agriculture farmers in the northeast suburbs." As a native Vardiggan, Charise was no stranger to agricultural needs. Farming was among her country's greatest assets.

Unlike Vardigga, Figaro City wasn't surrounded by misty highlands and alpine vegetation. All my capital's farming soil had been transplanted from elsewhere, as desert sand was hardly an ample farming platform. Those who tended crops in the suburban outskirts needed water to keep their livelihood going, which in turn supplied Figaro City with fresh produce. They could not cut back on their quantity of water use. They would feel this increase the most. I gazed into Charise's vivid blue-green eyes, trying to find an answer that we could both agree upon.

Thankfully, Pierre beat me to it. "Your Highness, your water conservation practice should allow the farming guilds to receive and use their share more conveniently, perhaps allowing them a little extra too."

"Thank you, Chancellor." I relaxed, and saw Charise relax too.

"And in turn," Antonio said, looking up from the papers "they'll do great business that should help them to meet the higher taxation. In the end, everything will balance out." He let silence linger for a moment. "So, what is your decision?"

I took a deep breath, contemplating the challenge before me. To supply my people with water, I had to charge them more than I ever wished. As King, I had to walk the fine line between serving my population and taking their money. Charise ran her finger down my forearm. "Remember dear, this in only temporary."

"Yes, that's true. This tax increase won't last forever, but what it's paying for will." I was taxing my people, but it was for their benefit. And as my wife said, it was only short-term. Viewing all the positives, I looked straight at Antonio. "Let's do it."

The Minister brushed the papers aside and reached down, placing a briefcase in the area he'd cleared. With clicks, the locks were released and the case was opened. "Now that you've made a decision, there are some bills and declarations you'll need to sign to make this tax increase official." Antonio reached in and handed me a new stack of paperwork, all the sheets containing the stamp and seal of Figaro's Treasury.

The meeting proceeded. Antonio and Pierre explained the ins and outs of each stamped sheet, and I gave each one my autograph, Charise sending me encouraging smiles the whole time.

Once I signed all the bills, Antonio was giving me a finalization when the chamber's east doors opened behind me. This was a private meeting, one that I didn't want disrupted. I ordered the guards to keep out anyone, even fellow Returners, until the meeting was finished.

Yet if the guards admitted someone…

"My Lord!" The voice sounded urgent. I turned to see Jerom Frennard run down the steps to our table. He carried yet another bunch of papers, but from the look on his face, I knew they didn't deal with financial matters. He offered me this new bundle. "We just received this transmission."

_change in s & n_

Left, right. I swung my blade to one side and back at the peak of my high jump, cutting through the coconuts that were nailed to the wooden posts alongside me. As I began descending, I brought the Scimitar over my head and swung downward, splitting a third coconut placed on a shorter pole. The severed halves touched the ground an instant after my feet.

Much like traditional Doman long swords, the Scimitar had a gentle curve to it, though its blade was a visibly thicker and shorter than Cyan's choice weaponry. These recent lessons focused on swordplay during leaps. The fenced-in yard behind the dojo was where I practiced.

I shoved the Scimitar's point into the dirt as Gau and Sabin watched, cheering me on. "Kick ass!" Sabin beamed as Gau started picking up the broken coconut pieces.

"Yeah, sure." I looked down, not really focusing on their audience. Something was troubling me.

Sabin sensed this. He walked over and put a hand on my back. "Terra, what's wrong? You seem distracted."

I traced my finger across the lines on my Minerva armor. "I spoke with Leonard about espers a few days back. Like most Narsheans, he saw Tritoch as a curse to the town. But more to the point, he sees nothing in them but hate and destruction. I'd like to tell him the truth, but a half-esper background isn't something you can just mention spontaneously, certainly not to a guy I hardly know."

"You're thinking he'll judge you harshly? Why? You saved his life."

I nudged a stone aside with the blade's tip. "It just feels…wrong to spill the beans so soon. I'd like to discuss the truth of my origins with him, but I think it would feel awkward for both of us if I did it poorly."

Sabin folded his hands behind his neck. "I'm certain it felt awkward for him to have you near when Arvis cut him down." Cyan and Edgar had informed him and Relm about our visit to Narshe's government building, though they were told this in confidence, and were asked not to mention it to Leonard unless the Narshean brought it up. "You both have secrets, and while yours are still secure, some of his are not. He's more exposed than you in that regard. He's looking to us, you especially, for encouragement, not unlike how you once relied on our support when I first met you."

I blinked. I'd never thought of that. Sabin mentioned one more sign that the world was a changing place. In the age of Gestahl and Kefka, I was the one who looked to others for help and reassurance. I was needy, and my friends were my crutch.

With Leonard, the roles were reversed. I had saved his life, and while that gave me an ego boost, it gave him something far greater. Another person he could trust had entered his life. I changed his pessimism-is-realism views.

Were that not enough, I defended his clear innocence against that woman at the train station, telling her that Leonard could not be held accountable for his father's actions. I was the moral support that he desperately needed but sorely lacked, for the most part.

Sabin's words inspired self-confidence, but they did nothing to answer my question about revealing my past. I was about to ask him for more advise when the yard's gate rattled noisily.

The three of us faced the yard's entryway and saw Locke standing by the open gate, a large dagger in his right hand and a small, round gold shield in his left. "Kohlingen got …trans...rad…just happened…Falcon's…parked…" he shouted incoherently.

As Gau and I exchanged confused looks, Sabin walked over to the ranting treasure hunter. "Slow down buddy." He put a hand on Locke's shoulder. "If you've something important to say, speak clearly. Don't lose it in the translation."

Locke slowed his air intake and cleared his throat. "There's been another monster attack!"

Gau clenched his fists, I gulped hard, and Sabin cursed loudly. We now shared Locke's panic. So many questions filled my mind that I couldn't think of which to ask first.

My thoughts were verbalized by Sabin. "Where? When?" His voice was tense.

"Olistes, at Dragon's Neck, no more than ten minutes ago. We almost jacked a wagon to get here," Locke answered loudly.

"What the hell? Monsters attack fighters all the time at Olistes. What makes this one so dire?" I asked in confusion.

"It was spectators who were killed, not gladiators. The dead were found in an area where combat beasts aren't allowed, bites and claw marks aplenty." Locke wasn't yelling now, but he was definitely on edge. We all were.

Locke explained what happened as best he could. Olistes radioed Kohlingen about the incident, and they in turn sent a message to Figaro's military command center, where Locke and Celes were training with Cyan. Edgar was having an important meeting about city taxation at the time, but he was informed.

Locke pointed his shield at my plate armor. "You're dressed, and armed. Good. Setzer's got the Falcon parked at the forest entry, in a field just beyond the train tracks. We can get supplies on board. Edgar radioed the coliseum saying we'd be there to check it out. Let's go!"

In a heartbeat I sheathed my sword and followed Locke into the dojo with Sabin and Gau, who stopped to grab a metal knuckle and a war hammer respectively. When they were armed, we ran outside. Sabin locked up and we split for the Falcon, visible in the distance.

We ran under the elevated train tracks to where the airship was parked. Celes greeted us at the entryway, her sheathed katana tucked into her belt. "What about Leonard and Relm?" she asked, fastening a plate mail vest over her black camisole.

"Farm work and art studies," Locke said, passing her and entering the vessel. "We'll go without them."

As the rest of us boarded, Gau stopped and looked back. "Wait a minute. Shouldn't we get some back-up for this? You didn't go to that mining place without a military team."

Sabin pulled the door closed and latched it. "Shedairah was Narshe's asset, thus part of Figaro. Olistes is beyond Edgar's borders. And you know how he feels about Dragon's Neck. Putting it lightly, he finds the coliseum's events distasteful."

"Figaro's military has better things to do than go monster hunting in a foreign city, especially one their King so openly frowns upon," Celes added. "With that said, he doesn't wish death upon those whose only crime is reveling in questionable entertainment. That's why he's sending us in."

"We'll meet up with one of Olistes's defense units. They'll assist us in collaring and subduing whatever's there so we can bring it back, just in case," Locke called from the stairway before heading up to the piloting deck.

The rest of us followed, where Setzer was prepping the controls for takeoff. "Damn, damn, DAMN!" He cursed repeatedly.

Setzer was not one to lose his emotional control like this. I went to his side as he swore and worked with the controls. "What's wrong?"

He moved a long switch downwards. "I have regular customers in Olistes, and they're all frequent coliseum goers." He said nothing else as the Falcon rose from the ground, but he didn't need to. He was concerned for the well-being of gambling patrons he saw as friends.

I watched the gambler adjust the ship's direction and altitude. "I hope they're safe too."

_Change in s_

Olistes was at the northern end of the Lucaissa Plains, above Kohlingen's farming regions. Because of its infamous landmark, Dragon's Neck Coliseum, it was a stand-alone center of inhabitance. Edgar wasn't the only person who considered the blood sports of Dragon's Neck atrocious, so Olistes was a town without a country, ruled by a local government. Because attending Dragon's Neck was anything but cheap, the town's population was almost totally upper-class. Since the coliseum made large amounts of money from this, some of it went upstairs to the government. That was partly how the town started, and how it kept itself up now.

In short, Olistes had a small but wealthy populous. There were enough residents to sustain the town, but not enough to make it a nation. For that reason, it lacked certain conveniences that other towns had, such as close airship platforms. We docked the Falcon just outside town in a wooded area.

As we entered the city, Setzer was fuming. "The risks and consequences of the game should only apply to those who play! These were audience, not fighters!" I could see the veins in his neck and face bulge. Sabin put a hand of reassurance on his shoulder, but the gambler didn't seem to notice.

Locke elaborated on the local defense unit's response. After learning of the attack, they set up a perimeter outside, evacuating the arena and locating all registered combat creatures before closing the place off. Their plan was to seal the offending creature inside and sweep the building section by section. The defense unit was trained for this type of occurrence. Many of them were ex-military staff, though Olistes lacked an actual military force due to its size. The defense unit was just that; it did not engage in combat outside of the town's domain.

The streets around the coliseum were filled with bedlam. Though the building was vacated in an orderly fashion, the evacuated spectators fell into panic once outside. Mobs of people ran screaming from the large, cylindrical building, hardly recognizing us as they shoved past. We had to push through the crowd on more than one occasion.

Armed guards recognized us and sent grateful expressions of relief our way. We Returners were pros to them, and they we beyond happy for our presence.

Two men with spears stood atop the stairs at the doorway. Locke addressed one. "Give us a sit-rep."

"We've swept the basement level, as well the first and second floor hallways. We also secured those levels' seating areas and private booths." As the man talked, I thought to inquire about Ziegfried, but if the champion were around, he'd have joined us. Our arrival here was known and anticipated.

When the man finished his explanation, he stepped aside. We drew our weapons and went in. Immediately, Setzer ran ahead, almost vanishing around the curving hallway before Celes called him back.

We followed guards as they secured more halls, stairwells, and seating booths. Though he stayed with us, Setzer was a nervous wreck the entire time. For my part, I couldn't stop wondering about the creature behind this latest attack. It wasn't another giant turtle with a spiked shell. Though Dragon's Neck did use large beasts for certain brawls, one that large would've devastated the building to get where the bodies had been found.

And why the coliseum? Shedairah and Cid's laboratory were both assets of Figaro, and they were both very hi-tech in their functions. Dragon's Neck however, was a fighting arena open to the public. It had no top-secret information of any kind, nor was it a part of Edgar's nation. The intents of these new monsters were as confusing as their methods.

At last, we reached the fifth and uppermost level. The seating areas and the outlining hallway had been searched, and the guards found nothing. There was only one place left.

The private room where the carnage was discovered.

It was on the level's east side. As we got there, guards were patrolling both sides of the hallway leading to it. Though Setzer kept himself composed throughout the search, he could no longer withhold his anxiety. When the patrol party let us past, he sped through a pair of doors to the room in question. He didn't think to check for an ambush.

But we didn't hear the sounds of attack. We heard something else.

Names were unnecessary. Even coherent, structured words were pointless. The gambler swearing at the top of his lungs and banging his fist against the wall confirmed his worst fears. The patrons he'd been concerned about were dead.

The five of us ran to the doorway. Setzer knelt weakly over a deceased couple, their spilled blood forming abstract shapes of red on the lime-green carpet. Several more bodies of Olisten spectators filled the room, broken dining tables and chairs scattered among the slain, with spilled meal trays and broken wine bottles adding more chaotic details. A few guards were also part of the body count.

I looked back at Setzer. He'd calmed down but was still comprehending the loss. He fell to a kneeling posture above the dead couple, and sniffled. A tear streaked his face.

It was numbing to see him like this. Setzer could keep his emotions under control on the battlefield, and during intense flights like the escape from Kefka's tower. In that moment I realized, this was the first time I'd ever seen him cry.

Sabin crouched down near Setzer. "I'm sorry," he whispered, offering his arm and helping the distraught gambler to his feet.

I steeled myself from shedding tears. Unable to look upon the dead, I forced my eyes upwards toward the ceiling.

The room's light fixtures were covered on the top, and the covers were lined with mirrors. This forced much of the lighting downward. But a small amount of light went up past the rafters, enough to highlight a moving shape among the wooden beams.

The more I concentrated on it, the more details I could make out. There was the texture of thick fur, and a slight munching sound.

I'd spotted the source if this bloodbath. Sorrow was being replaced with adrenaline. "Up there!" I pointed at the furry shape with the Scimitar, getting the others' attention. My senses were on full alert, ready for confrontation.

"Oh shit," came a voice from above. A lacerated piece of human muscle tissue was dropped to the floor. What creature was this? If it could talk, it could answer our questions. We'd force it, if need be.

The shape descended from the rafters. One glimpse was all it took for its identity to register. I'd never thought much of him. He was just a dumb creature with limited capacity beyond speech. But now…

I expected anything but this.

Setzer though, was too furious for surprise. "LONE WOLF!" he snarled. "In four years you've gone from pick-pocketing my clientele to slaughtering them?"

The werewolf creature shrugged. "They were snobs. They wanted bloodshed but were too lazy to cause it themselves. I do hope I satisfied their urge for the crimson fountain, hee hee."

"Cocksucker!" Setzer yelled and drew some razor cards from his coat. A flick of his wrist and all five were sent flying at the wolf creature.

Lone Wolf cart-wheeled to the side, letting the cards embed themselves in the blood-streaked wall behind him. "Missed by a mile, Gabbiani."

Before Setzer could react, Sabin stepped forward. "You did this. What do you know about Shedairah? What about Cid's lab?" The blitz master ordered the werewolf to answer him. He'd already made the connection I had. I never saw Lone Wolf as anything but a petty nuisance. Questioning his human-wolf origins had never occurred to me. But if he was behind this recent killing spree…

…and the agility he displayed in dodging Setzer's card toss…

He was more than just a measly pick-pocket now.

"I don't know what that is." The wolf looked about, as if seeking an escape from the room. At the other end, guards filed into the second doorway, cutting off the closest escape route. "Damn," he growled, turning towards the only remaining exit, the wide, floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the fit pit down below.

As Lone Wolf broke for the observation window, we sprinted into action. Gau went to the side with Locke, blocking the wolf's last escape. Gau charged, and slammed his war hammer into Lone Wolf's stomach. The wolf-man went limp like a deflated balloon, and Locke followed up with a bash across the snout using the gauntlet shield's domed surface. Lone Wolf was knocked sideways to the floor. "We'll see about that when you're interrogated back at the castle." Locke was already thinking ahead.

The wolf-man clutched his bleeding nose. "Yuh-oh. Alright, I'll go peacefully," he whimpered. Lying on the floor with a bloodied nose and six Returners bearing down on him, Lone Wolf could do nothing but cower helplessly, especially when one present Returner held a very personal hatred for him.

Defense unit staff placed shackles on Lone Wolf's ankles and wrists, followed by a muzzle to prevent any biting attacks. "It's back to the dungeons for you, asshole. If you can think like a person, you can be jailed like one," Sabin proclaimed as he lifted the restrained wolf on the left side. Gau lifted him on the right. The guards knew of Edgar's plan. They didn't insist that Lone Wolf be kept in Olistes, and happily let us take him.

We proceeded out the arena and through the city. "It's a good thing you're not human," Setzer hissed at the wolf. "We can do whatever we want and human rights violations won't be a concern."

Celes went to gambler's side. "Calm down Setzer. You've made your point already. We need him alive for the interrogation. He'll get what's coming to him."

The gambler said nothing, remaining silent as we reached the airship. The six of us climbed to the piloting deck. Gau and Sabin threw Lone Wolf down on the wooden deck floor, where Celes and I kept our swords trained on him. As Setzer fired up the controls, Locke asked, "Are you feeling well enough to pilot? I can always-"

"I'm fine," Setzer interjected. "If I don't occupy myself with flying the ship, I'll tear that fucking wolf to pieces before we get halfway to Figaro." Locke backed away, knowing the gambler needed some extra space in the moment.

As the Falcon's motor roared to life, I fixed my eyes down at the shackled wolf. He was nothing new. Was this evolution of super monsters happening back in the Empire's times? Had it only peaked as of recent? Were the Shedairah monsters and the giant leech really so new?

Edgar had already locked the wolf-man up once before, for petty theft. Now he'd be doing it again for more serious crimes. How much did he know about the creatures from the mining base and research lab? How'd he become a human-wolf hybrid? Why'd he kill the arena spectators? My mind raced with questions again, but this time we'd be getting answers.

The airship lifted and we headed back to Figaro. As we ascended, Setzer switched on the pilot console's radio bank. "That's funny. I'm trying to radio the castle, but I'm not getting any reception." I could hear Setzer pressing buttons as he spoke. "Maybe I just need to climb higher." He did, and tried broadcasting again. He was no more successful than the first time. Further tries yielded identical results. "What the hell's going on? There have to be reception towers nearby somewhere." The gambler kept sliding levers and working dials to no avail.

He was getting more aggravated as we neared the town of Quildern. It was urbanized, and had ample radio receivers. At that moment, a loud bang sounded. The Falcon trembled with the noise.

Lone Wolf smiled under his jaw restraint. Locke's dagger was in the wolf-man's face. "Explain," he demanded, his dagger tip not more than three inches from Lone Wolf's forehead.

"I didn't do it," the wolf protested from beneath the muzzle.

Locke slammed his dagger's handle between the creature's eyes, causing him to wince. "Don't fuck around. Answer-"

There was a second bang, louder than the first. I was knocked off balance. Celes was thrown into Gau as the airship was rocked again. Setzer cursed and raised the emergency netting along the Falcon's deck rails, rigging designed to keep those on the deck from falling off when a vessel was shaken. His hands danced about the controls as he re-stabilized the airship's flight path.

Laughter at the ship's tail caught our attention. We turned around to see a wisp of smoke seep from one of the engines. Behind the rear netting was yet another old creature that we'd not seen on a long time. Or more accurately, _two_ creatures. One of them was talking. "Well well well, long time no see." He smiled his wide toothy grin.

Ulros the octopus was tailing us, riding atop his pet, the snarling creature known as Chupon. Though the latter seemed unchanged, the former was no longer the ridiculous, come-to-life cartoon rendition that stalked us on several occasions years back. His purple skin now had a black overtone, his yellow teeth had become sharper, and his eyes glowed with a resonating bile green aura.

How deep was this monster evolution?

Locke turned his rage from the werewolf to the menacing octopus creature. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Ultros sneered from behind the rigging ropes. "Just checking in on you. I see you haven't changed much. We knew you'd come. All Lone Wolf had to do was kill some people and let the word spread. You Returners are sooooooooooooo predictable."

I was piecing together the puzzle. My knuckles were white as I tightened the grip on my sword, clenching my teeth as the motive became obvious. "You mean, you killed those people just to get our attention?" I screamed at both the wolf and the sea creature.

Ultros waved an arm mockingly. "It worked, didn't it? We could kill those fucking snobs and get your attention in one move. It's called multi-tasking. Don't criticize success." As he spoke, Chupon was gnawing on the ropes that separated our group from him and his rider. Clearly they were itching for a fight. Battling on a jostled airship, though, was not advised. Conflict, on the other hand, seemed unavoidable.

Sabin cracked his knuckles and sent a brilliant aurabolt their way.

Yet just like the giant turtle, the energy blast did nothing. Even Ultros's smirk remained. "That doesn't work on me now, hot shot. Try harder." As the airship's quivering was reduced, Ultros looked up and belched something from his mouth. Another bang and another shake followed. A puff of black smoke appeared behind him. "Nice new airship. Too bad it's gonna crash!"

Foolish or not, there was no avoiding a fight now. Ultros was clear in his intentions. As Setzer cursed yet again, containing the Falcon's latest wobbling, Sabin charged to the deck's rear, with Gau and Locke close behind.

I nearly followed, but the noise of Celes grunting stopped me. I was her land on her stomach against the deck plates. In the next instant, I too was thrown down. Something large and hairy slammed into me.

As we both stood, we espied Lone Wolf stand at his full height, muscles bulging as he reached for his face and steadily tore off the muzzle. He placed the chains of his shackles in his mouth.

"Terra, get Ultros!" Celes pointed her Strato at the unshackled wolf beast. "I'll deal with this hairy bastard."

There was no arguing with her logic. Ultros was the greater threat. Even with Lone Wolf freed, it was the octopus that was damaging the engines. More of us were needed back there. Setzer had piloting tasks to manage, and would need someone to cover him. "Good Luck," I called before rushing to help the others.

"You too!" Her words followed me.

Ultros swung an arm at Locke. Though he blocked the strike with his gold shield, the force sent him reeling backwards. Only his quick reflexes allowed him to land on his feet. Gau was less fortunate, as the demonic octopus tripped him. Sabin avoided Ultros's swings with a jump and a flip. "Are you chosen?" he asked.

Ultros mocked the question. "I have no idea what you mean. You are chosen though, chosen by me to crash." He swung an arm at me, but I deflected it with the Scimitar. My hope was to sever it, but the tentacle was too slippery and thick. Ultros was more a threat than a nuisance at this point. I almost wanted his old, annoying personality back. That was easier to deal with.

Gau and Locke fended off tentacle blows with their weapons, while Sabin used a short-rage fire aura blitz to keep the slimy, muscled arms at bay. We'd have charged the monsters, but Chupon began growling. A mist formed around his wide mouth. This was his usual sneeze-gas attack…I hoped. That way, we could predict and counter it. No, this was something else, for the mist emanated a disgusting stench. As the mist from Chupon spread, Ultros made spitting noises. His usual ink blast appeared.

Black ink merged with grey mist, and the result was an instantaneous black cloud on the Falcon's rear deck, not to be confused with smoke from the engines; the texture was much smoother. The black fog grew in size, enveloping the region between us and them. A ruthless, unforgiving smell invaded my nose. I couldn't stop gagging. My eyes watered. This smokescreen move was doing its job perfectly. We couldn't see our opponents, nor could we concentrate to find them. All we could do was back step away.

_change in n_

I leveled my Strato at Lone Wolf, who'd now freed himself from the shackles. I charged him with a fierce vertical slash, but he evaded swiftly with a backwards leap. "Missed me, General Chere."

My face burned with anger at the mention of 'General Chere'. A snappish retort was brewing on my tongue, but I held it down. I wasn't about to get distracted, or let this wolf-human think he could control my emotions.

Lone Wolf's evasive move had placed him dangerously close to Setzer. Though piloting required every bit of the gambler's concentration, he tried pitching in to the fight. He reached into his overcoat and tossed another handful of card-blades at Lone Wolf. That close, the werewolf couldn't dodge them. All five gambling weapons struck his shoulder and forearm. But he didn't falter. He clawed at Setzer's throwing hand, ripping his coat sleeve and grazing his palm.

I wasn't standing still all this time. As Setzer groaned, I charged again, closing the distance between me and the wolf. I slashed downwards, not really trying to hit Lone Wolf so much as push him away from Setzer. With another leaping move, the werewolf dodged my attack, but at least now he was off to the side, a safe distance from our pilot. I placed myself between the gambler and the werewolf. There was more distance between us, but closing it was not my priority. My objective was to cover Setzer.

Lone Wolf grunted and pulled the card-blades out from his arm. His lips slid back to reveal his fangs. I tried to anticipate his next move, knowing how unpredictable he was. I'd concluded already that his cowardice from earlier was fake. His pathetic display when Gau and Locke took him down in the arena booth was a ruse to make us underestimate him. I despised admitting it, but his trick worked.

My eyes stayed on his position. He moved, and my gaze followed. When he placed me directly between him and Setzer, I stepped forward, barely noticing the others fighting Ultros and Chupon behind him. When my foot touched the deck, Lone Wolf charged. I took a combative stance and aimed my katana at him, set on striking him with a swift pass.

Yet once he got close, he pulled a surprise move. My sword went high, and he broke low, into a sliding attack along the deck floor. His foot was raised…and his heel violently contacted my groin.

I found myself gasping for air and falling to my knees, a throbbing ache in my womanhood. In a heartbeat, Lone Wolf was on top of me, raising his arm. Ignoring the pains in my groin, I lifted the Strato to meet his hand.

Lone Wolf yelped in pain and reeled his arm backwards, blood seeping from the deep gash between his fingers. Encouraged, I stabbed for his legs, hoping to immobilize him. Unfortunately, he saw my motion at the last possible second and broke to the side.

I was on my feet in time to see Lone Wolf charge for Setzer again. He was already preparing a leap toward the gambler.

We hoped to bring the wolf back to Figaro alive for questioning. Unfortunately, I had only one chance to keep the wolf away from Setzer. I wouldn't get another, and the wolf had nothing less than fatal intents for us. With a limited window of opportunity, my intents could be no different for him.

As the wolf went for Setzer, I charged in from the man-beast's side, raising my Strato to meet the humanoid.

_change in n_

Despite the Falcon's speed, the mixture of putrid fog and opaque, black ink stayed where it was, somehow controlled by its creators. It was a logical assumption that Ultros and Chupon were immune to their own attack. They could keep us at a distance while masking themselves within the smelly black cloud. Though I didn't feel poisoned, the cloud was obstructive to vision and merciless to the nose. We had to eliminate it.

Locke made some harsh puking noises while Gau hacked and coughed. I breathed through my mouth shallowly. Sabin cleared his throat and looked at the pitch black mass. "Get ready, here goes!"

What was he doing? He balled his hands into fists and stretched his arms back. His action proved a more fitting answer than words; Sabin threw some hook punches at the cloud.

But they weren't mere blows. He was pulling an air blade attack. Boomerang shapes of white shot from his hands, and more shot from his feet as he threw roundhouse kicks. The dark void began to thin, and seconds later it was gone completely.

Ultros had leapt off Chupon and was now at the back deck. Yet he was surprised that his ink cloud had vanished. He froze momentarily.

"NOW!" Locke didn't need any pointers. He rushed forward, covering himself with the gauntlet shield, and swung his dagger at Ultros face. A dark red trail was carved into the octopus's cheek and temple. He roared in fury. As he recoiled from Locke's attack, Gau charged him, swinging his war hammer, striking Ultros's jaw and braking one of his teeth.

The octopus monster reeled backwards again. He was backed up against the deck rail, right in front of the hole Chupon had gnawed in the rigging. Sabin stepped up to the injured monster. "You were waiting for us in the woods." He maintained his defensive posture. "You destroyed the radio receiver on this ship."

"If you know, why ask?" Ultros snarled through clenched, bleeding teeth.

"Ziegfried stopped by my place, saying that you and Chupon vanished along with our friend Shadow. Talk!"

Ultros didn't answer Sabin. Instead, the monster stood on his arms and flashed his teeth. In a blink, Sabin leapt up and delivered a pop-up kick to Ultros's face, sending the creature backwards through the netting hole and over the railing.

As Ultros was driven back, he reached forward with his long arms and snagged the railing edge with two tentacles. His wide eyes made irresistible targets. I ran up next to Sabin and swung my blade at the creature, sending an air slash into his right eye.

Four blows to the head, but Ultros's stamina was far from spent. His grip remained steadfast upon the rail. Still, we could easily dispose of him. One pound or slash to his arms would break his grip and send him falling to the mountains below. I raised my Scimitar with that exact intention, but another loud explosion intervened.

Unlike the previous ones, this was accompanied by a continuous screeching noise.

Sabin joined me in looking up, where this high-pitched noise was coming from. Chupon was there, snarling. But he was an afterthought. Behind him, a trail of black smoke was seeping from the white, oblong-shaped balloon over the Falcon. Chupon had damaged the flight mechanisms, and the engine was in equally bad shape.

The connection was undeniable. The black cloud was a diversion. Ultros had leapt aboard keep us at bay, while Chupon sabotaged the airship. They waited until we were airborne to make their moves.

Ultros laughed, despite bleeding from his check, gums, nose, and eyelid. "I promised you an airship crash, didn't I? I'm not one to defer from my sacred vows."

Ultros making sacred vows. There was no form of evolution more unwelcome.

The octopus let go of the rails as Chupon flew underneath to pick him up. "Farewell fuckers," he gloated before flying off into the distance on Chupon's back.

The Falcon was loosing altitude. I could feel the airship descending. At the front end, Setzer was adjusting the controls. Celes ran over to us, her katana blade soaked with blood. On the Falcon's deck was the headless, one-handed carcass of Lone Wolf. She'd obviously killed him to protect Setzer. He was injured; red hand prints were visible on the piloting bank.

"Where are they?" Celes almost yelled, competing with the screeching noise.

"Bailed, but not before fucking with the engines." Locke sheathed his dagger and ran to check on Setzer. The wolf was dead and the others had escaped. We'd be getting no answers, but that was the least of our problems.

The airship was pushed to great speeds in an attempt to outrun the duo of monsters. It proved futile. Setzer tried the breaks, but they stalled. Chupon had fucked with them too. The engines were gradually dying, and the vessel wouldn't stay afloat much longer.

Setzer reached for the emergency sail. It was a large cloth behind the airship to catch wind and slow a speeding vessel should the breaks fail. The large canopy was deployed, but it didn't slow the ship much. Looking back, I saw why. The sail was filled with holes, either from Chupon or the burning machinery balloon. The sail was ineffective.

Locke held onto Celes as Sabin grabbed Gau. I knelt down and clutched the railing base, even before Setzer yelled out, "Brace yourselves. We can't slow down anymore. We're going to crash and…FUCK!"

I'd survived an airship crash once before. When the espers attacked Vector, they passed the Blackjack in blind fury. The engines malfunctioned, and we were thrown for a loop, crashing into a field of Marandan cropland. Our speed was much faster that time, and we lived. We could survive this one too.

But Setzer was cursing at something else. Ahead, I could see the windmills, tree tops, and other details of Figaro City. Roads and sidewalks were bustling with pedestrians and wagons. And the Falcon was speeding right towards them!

Even if we could survive, hundreds down below could not. The Falcon would etch a trail of death destruction through Figaro's capital. Reduced speed would mean nothing.

I closed my eyes. I didn't want to see the impending devastation.


	14. Foresight

**Chapter 14: Foresight**

The screeching cacophony went on as wind passed through the damaged machinery blimp. In moments, it would be replaced with a new, similar noise; the screams of Figaroans, their voices filled with horror and anguish as the stricken airship plowed through their town…and into them.

The Falcon wasn't dropping at freefall speed. The hovering stabilizers were still at work, though with the engines dead, they could only slow the descent. The slow, steady loss of altitude gave me time to envision the impending calamity. The Falcon would clip whatever stood in its path—trees, windmill, rooftops—before slamming into the ground, either cutting a trail of death and agony through the streets or shattering on impact. The ship's forward speed would cause the damage. Setzer was speeding to evade the monsters, and now with the breaks gone, nothing but the city would stop its momentum.

I opened my eyes, if only to catch a glimpse of Celes clutching Locke and Sabin clutching Gau. I immediately squeezed them closed again. I could barely hear Setzer yelling something. I'd been so lost in thought about the horrors that were minutes away.

"It's worth a try," were the only words I could decipher. Was he talking about? "Hold on tight!" Those next words didn't sound as apocalyptic as his declaration of an impeding crash. He sounded…

…hopeful.

As the city loomed ever closer from below, Setzer grabbed the wheel and rotated it. I felt the doomed vessel shift its position. Setzer was turning us slightly. He was moving to the right, toward the south.

Toward the ocean.

Celes and Locke grabbed the emergency rigging, each with one hand on the ropes and one around each other. Gau and Sabin grabbed the ropes with both hands. I did the same. If there was any chance to avoid a collision with Edgar's metropolis, it was now or never.

The Falcon swayed as it started banking. High-speed bank turns were dangerous, Setzer told us once in a crash-course on flight controls. (Crash-course. I shivered at my own choice of words). If too sharp a turn was made at too fast a velocity, a high-speed stall was inevitable. Such an event would cause the airship to literally fall from the sky. It was doing all but just that right now. Setzer needed to be very precise with the degree in which he would execute this turn. Too sharp an angle would send the airship down to the capital. Too shallow an angle wouldn't get us away from the city fast enough.

Setzer needed all his piloting skills now. The lives of hundreds, including ours, were in his hands.

The city below shifted to the left. The turning mechanisms hadn't suffered at the arms and fangs of the nuisance-turned-threat monster duo. One piece of the Falcon still worked. It was all we needed, and was all that could save the town. I held my breath.

After five seconds, each feeling like a millennium, the shimmering blue oceans south of Figaro slid into view before the Falcon's piloting bank, the city beneath getting closer each passing millisecond. I could see the vague forms of people in the streets, running and pointing. If they screamed anything, the loud whistle of air in the overhead blimp drowned them out at this height, a height that was gradually decreasing.

I could see a feint shadow of the Falcon as we neared the beaches. Less distance to go, but less height to work with.

Time stood still now. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, as though it was trying to burst through my ribcage and out from under my armor. Setzer's brown coat and silvery hear whipped about behind him as he maneuvered the ship to its intended landing zone.

My eyes never left the gambler at the piloting console. I couldn't even remember if I blinked or breathed. One way or another, the Falcon wouldn't stay airborne much longer.

The violent shock ripped me out of my thoughts. I squeezed the rigging as the airship trembled yet again, though not from exploding machinery this time. The unavoidable had finally happened. The suspense was gone. I recalled breathing and blinking now. Before I could decided against it, I turned around.

A massive spray of saltwater was spewing up from behind, blotting out the trail of black smoke that seeped from the blimp. My heartbeat slowed to its normal pace. Setzer's piloting expertise and quick thinking had not only saved our lives, but the lives of thousands in the city.

While the others held their grip on the ropes and each other, Setzer held the wheel, like he was still turning to prevent a crash that he'd avoided already. The adrenaline rush had yet to wear off.

The Falcon stopped skimming across the ocean surface. The waves behind us sunk to a trail of ripples in the water. We were still. No motion, no more screeching noise, nothing. I rose, shaking but relived. Knowing the danger had passed, I let go of the netting. Locke and Celes shared a celebratory kiss, happy to be alive.

"Damn Setzer. You're the man!" Sabin put on his broad smile and ran over to the pilot, who collapsed next to the steering wheel. The blitz master lifted the gambler. "You did it! You did it!" Sabin announced. "We hit the water. The town's okay."

The rest of us huddled around them. Setzer made a few groggy mumbles before gasping. "Shit!" Without taking a moment to congratulate himself, he bolted across the deck and went to the stairwell.

I presumed he was going to inspect the engine room, and I was right. We found him there…at the doorway. The room was flooded. There was no point inspecting the damage. The whole level was water-logged. The falcon had some vents on its underbelly, and plenty of water had seeped in through them. There was a pronounced salt-water smell in the air.

"Well, that does it," Setzer groaned as we headed back up to the outer deck. "The damage has really been done now." Unlike sea-traveling ships, an airship's engines weren't meant to be in contact with water. This combined with the damage Ultros and Chupon wrought had rendered the Falcon immobile, but at least it was floating and not sinking.

"How long are we gonna be stuck here?" Gau asked from next to me.

Locke pulled a brass telescope from a supply drawer near the control bank. He turned the focus ring and looked to the northwest. "It'll be a while, but they're coming." He gave me the scope.

In the distance, a team of ships was visible. We'd been anything but discreet in arriving. The noise of the Falcon and the black smoke trail left in the sky announced our flight problems to the whole town.

Some time later, as the ships neared our inert vessel, I could see the lead one had cranes attached. Once this lead ship came into focus, I could see the forms of Edgar and Cyan at the helm. Behind them were some military staff, Col. Frennard and Lt. Edderbricht being the ones I recognized first. As it sailed even closer, I also spotted Leonard and Relm on the deck. Edgar must've sent messengers to find them.

Setzer lowered the emergency rigging as Edgar and Cyan's ship pulled along side ours. The crew lowered a bridge-ramp from the higher deck of the ship, and Sabin climbed it with Gau close behind, Locke following third. As Celes grabbed the bridge rail, she moaned and reached for her groin. "That was a nasty landing. Will your…sacred spot be alright?" I asked.

Celes looked up and stepped on the ramp. "Actually it was during the fight. Lone Wolf showed me his sliding kick attack, but I'll be fine." She began ascending, after which Setzer and I did the same.

On the towing ship's deck, Relm fell into Gau's arms and beamed with joy that he was alive. She ran to Celes, her other 'big sister', and gave her a big hug before giving me one. The Figaro brothers shared a glad-you're-alive acknowledgement as Cyan greeted Locke and Gau.

"Terra!" Through the gathered Returners, soldiers, and naval crew, I spotted Leonard make his way toward me. The look on his face was nothing short of relief. "Terra, you're alive."

I didn't know what to say. It was the first time I'd seen Leonard this emotional. The only comparable time I'd seen him like this was at the train stop when the women appeared. That time he was trying to conceal his feelings. Now, his emotions were very clear. "I saw the burning airship and immediately thought of you and the others. As it was turning to the water, some army guys arrived at the train stop near the farm and dragged me onto a chocobo before I could ask anything. They filled me in during the ride to the harbor." Even if it was just a guess that I'd been on the airship, he'd guessed right.

The concern and worry in his voice was undeniable. I still wasn't the best person at reading faces and voice tones, but only someone rock stupid would miss what Leonard was thinking. He'd been worried for us, especially me. That he would act this way and speak such words was a simple, yet powerful method of showing it. Sometimes, the simpler ways work best.

The Narshean and I just looked one another over. I was about to speak up when I heard Setzer curse again. "At least Daryl knew the risks she was taking. These people weren't even playing the game and they…" he couldn't finish. He instead kicked the railing post and swore loudly. Now that his mind off piloting, he could think more about his lost gambling friends.

"What is he talking about?" Edgar asked as he and Cyan approached.

"The coliseum fatalities were some of his regular patrons," Locke answered.

Cyan was at the gambler's side a moment later. "Setzer! I am deeply saddened for your loss." He put an arm around the airship captain. Setzer took Cyan's hand but said nothing. He just looked away from us, out at the water beyond the paralyzed airship. Setzer was used to bad things happening at random. He wasn't often emotional, but Lone Wolf consciously killing the arena guests was anything but random. It was pre-planned.

The boat crew pulled in the bridge-ramp and the ship started moving away from the Falcon. As it did so, two other maintenance ships enclosed the Falcon on the sides. Both raised some long cylinders from their center points and unleashed a spray of fire-retardant foam into the airship's burning balloon. Once the blaze was gone, the fire-containment boats departed and Edgar ordered the towing boat's crew to work the crane. The Falcon was going nowhere soon, except for the harbor's repair yard. It would sit there for some time, as I was certain there were other tasks of a higher priority for the dock crew.

When the tow hook was in place, Cyan led a tearful Setzer off the deck and inside. "I think we need an impromptu meeting," Edgar declared, motioning for us to follow Cyan. "Let's go inside and discuss what you saw in Olistes."

_change in s & n_

"More talking monsters, and you knew of these ones? Why didn't you think of them when I told you all about the dinosaur-man?" Leonard nearly lost his balance in surprise. His experience with the said creature hadn't been as unique as he once thought. He had trouble making sense of what transpired at Dragon's Neck. I didn't blame him. Knowing that three 'old acquaintances' had resurfaced only deepened the mystery.

"I never thought these creatures were a threat," Terra answered, less confused than Leonard but still perplexed.

In the chair next to me, my brother folded his muscled arms. "I asked them about Shedairah, the lab, being 'chosen' and what became of Shadow, but they refused to answer. That doesn't rule out the possibility of their knowing something though."

"Regardless of that, Ultros and Chupon bailed and Lone Wolf is dead." Celes recalled the scuffle in which she killed the wolf after he kicked her in a 'sacred spot'. The three-piece carcass now lay at the Falcon's front end, near the control bank.

"Ultros thinking?" Relm forced herself from giggling. "And I just thought he was a laughing stock, a stupid octopus with no taste in art."

Terra frowned. "I wish that were still true, but unfortunately he's evolved."

"So he had Lone Wolf kill those people just to get our attention?" I asked, going over the story.

"In part. He wanted them dead for personal reasons, but also knew their deaths would bring us out." Locke tightened his fist until his knuckles were white.

"But how'd he know we'd come?" Celes asked.

"He screwed with us several times years back. He knows us well, and knows we have outstanding reputations," Sabin replied, grinning with that last fact. "He knew the arena's security unit would call us."

Leonard rested against the wall of the ship chamber in which we'd gathered. "This is all giving me a headache. I'm just not the seasoned adventurer you people are." The Narshean had little to offer the discussion. When you and your close friends are all veteran warriors, it's very easy to forget that others in the world can't claim similar credentials.

"The fact remains. Monsters are somehow evolving. An immunity to the Aurabolt is a shared trait between Ultros and that turtle thing from Shedairah, but is doesn't provide a solid link," I surmised. "Ultros was said to be missing weeks after the attack, around the same time Shadow disappeared." I saw Relm cringe when I mentioned her father. Though she couldn't claim to love him in the traditional sense, she didn't hate him, not to the extent Leonard hated his father at least. Relm's facial expression was a mixed bag of resentment, distrust, and worry. She had bonded with him during our travels, before she knew his real identity. "That said, we need to learn what is causing this new monster evolution, and how to stop it before the attacks escalate. If these monsters can think, they could have a motive. We goddamn well should find out as much as we can." No one in the room argued.

I let some of the info sink in. While my scouting teams failed to uncover any new aggressive species before the Shedairah search, that was partly a good thing. The monsters were obscure, but were also rare, at least for now. They didn't have numbers on their side. Also, while Lone Wolf was dead and clearly unable to answer our many burning questions, his death did reveal something; these monsters could be killed by conventional means. That also helped tilt the situation in our favor. But that still left more loose ends than answers. Would their numbers increase? Would they become more powerful? What was causing this?

"Wait." Leonard stepped forward, as though he had something important to say. "If it's talking non-human creatures you're curious about, I think I know someone, or something, who can help us. I should kick myself in the ass for not thinking of this earlier." He cleared his throat. "Mog and the yeti."

It was the first worthy piece he could offer in the discussion, and a damn good one. "You know," I stated "there might be something to that. If they know something we humans do not, we should get the information as soon as possible."

He nodded." Agreed, although I'm not sure if Mog's up to chatting yet. It's been a while since we last stopped by the caves."

"Why wouldn't he be?" I asked.

Leonard looked down at Terra. She took cue. "The last time we stopped by, we observed him lecturing Umaro. He was yelling in a manner unbecoming to a moogle. Details were sketchy, but we gathered that Umaro had been lazy and incompetent. Needless to say, we kept our distance and bailed from the cave."

This time, Relm burst out laughing. "Mog, lecturing Umaro? You gotta love a moogle who can issue directives to a yeti, and reprimand him when he doesn't follow them." Sabin started laughing with her.

"I'm sure it's nothing. Mog knows best, and Umaro isn't _that _ stupid." I laughed silently. The image of Mog chewing out Umaro was rather humorous, albeit strange.

Paul Edderbricht walked into the room. "Sir, we're pulling into the harbor."

"Thank you Lieutenant," I regarded him. Paul nodded and walked out.

Cyan stood up and faced Locke and Celes. "We need to give a full report and document this incident back at the command center."

"Right." Locke stood, Celes doing the same right after. Hand-in-hand, they followed Cyan into the hallway, with Relm and Gau close behind. I stood, stretched, and planned to check up on Setzer. He was still distraught and wanted time alone. Though losing his friendly customers took precedence over the loss of the Falcon, he'd be unable to lift his spirits through flying activity. While the Falcon was still usable as a large house (he and I took great pains to secure all furniture to the floors and walls to keep it in place), its underside machinery was soaked, and its blimp needed replacing. The fire had consumed much of the exterior, and some inside munitions had been ripped apart by Chupon. Just like Cid's lab, the airship was now out of service. We had one less utility at our disposal.

"Umm, Leonard." Terra called the Narshean back as he was leaving. "Nice to see you again. When are you planning on seeing Mog?"

"I don't know. I'm tired right now, and I work tomorrow. It's been one hell of a day."

"True," she added with a half smile.

"Hearing all your adventure talk has made me dizzy. See ya' soon." Leonard turned and left the ship room, rubbing his forehead.

"So what's next on your agenda, Eddy?" Sabin asked as he stood from his chair.

"Just before we got word of the attack, I signed bills making the city's tax increase official. I think I'll check on Setzer now."

"Sabin." Terra had joined us. She folded her hands in front of her and looked up at my brother, her eyes twinkling with a hopeful eagerness. "We never got to finish our discussion. Right before Locke burst into the dojo yard, you were telling me something about Leonard, and about telling him of my….esper background."

Her tone of voice paralleled the child-like gleam in her eyes. This was usual when she was eager for advice. Her excitement was on par with someone ten years younger, but she did have an excuse. Immature or not, she never had a childhood. Now she could catch up. She addressed Sabin, but I could tell she was focusing on me too. Terra often sought out wisdom from others in our circle, and frequently did so from more than one opinion. At the moment, she could get two.

The subject in question made me blink. Terra seemed awkward socially. Though she'd gotten plenty of experience in the four years I'd known her, she still was far behind the average twenty-two-year-old. She admitted her inexperience to herself. I was sure of that. There were things she found fascinating, things the rest of us had grown used to long ago.

It was no surprise that she wanted some pointers on how to discuss her past with Leonard. She was confused enough already, and having a background that was only part human didn't do her any favors. She didn't know Leonard as well as she knew us. He wasn't a Returner. He didn't offer her support back when she needed it the most. He was a 'newbie' to all of us except Mog, but in this case, she knew him better than Sabin or me.

Regardless, Terra stared longingly up at my brother, waiting for him to reply.

"Well," Sabin scratched his head. "As I was saying, he probably considers you a source of encouragement, even if he doesn't realize it. The best I can offer is that you not focus on your esper side, and instead focus on being there for him, listening when he asks it of you and answering questions as best you can. The bomb can be dropped later."

Terra was silent, looking at the floor. "Then tell him when it will be less of an issue."

"You could say that. If you time it right, I don't even think he'll care. When we learned that Maduin was your father, it meant nothing to us. We're all fully human. Is Leonard that different?"

"If he is," I could feel a smile crossing my lips, "it'll be that much easier for him to relate. Though I doubt that's the case, but you get my drift."

Terra smiled, but with hesitation. "What about his opinion of espers based upon their destructive power, like what they displayed in Vector when we opened the Sealed Gate?"

She was inexperienced, but still thoughtful. It was a good question, and I could answer it. "That was done in rage, after learning what the Empire did to their trapped kin. Like humans, espers had flaws too. But there was a whole other side to the magical beings that few besides us got to experience. Their kinder, softer side. Maduin and Ramuh were prime examples of this. Focus on the positive, and he'll do the same."

Terra's green eyes twinkled with enthusiasm. "If you weren't King, you could be a therapist."

I couldn't help myself. "Actually, part of being the King of Figaro is listening to others and offering encouragement. 'Therapist' is but one requirement of my title." The three of us laughed. When the humor subsided, I spoke up. "You really like him, don't you."

Terra scratched her head. "I guess…I mean, I did save his life. And I could feel for him. I speak his language, if that's the right phrase."

Sabin placed a hand on Terra's armored shoulder. She hadn't taken off her Minerva. "You know what I think? Our sweet, shy Terra Branford is in love."

"Sabin," she blurted out, "I think you're jumping to conclusions on that one."

"Whatever you say Terra. You'd know more than me."

She said nothing, instead pulling Sabin into a surprise hug. I received the honors next. Maybe she was in love. The sought emotion of her desires a few years back was a very diverse feeling, and she was still relatively new to it. I let her go and gave her another enthusiastic look. "Whatever you're feeling, I know you'll understand it in time."

"Aw, thank you." With that, she turned and strutted toward the chamber's door, stopping to look back. "Oh, and about talking with Mog, I'll try heading over there when I have the time."

"Much appreciated," I said before she left.

"I think she really likes him," Sabin commented as we departed the towing ship. Setzer had already left. "But I'm not sure how he feels on his end. He doesn't think that her saving him would be all that spectacular to her."

"I kinda see his point. After what we did, an outsider wouldn't expect saving a random stranger's life to have a comparable meaning. But if he only knew Terra like we did, he'd understand."

Outside on the dock, cranes were hauling the lower section of the Falcon into a large hanger while detaching the upper section, the incinerated white blimp. Maybe Setzer was helping them, to take his mind off his slain customers. "Does he realize how much she feels for him? I don't want him to blow her off inadvertently due to his ignorance. Maybe we should tell him." Sabin was thinking of how Terra would feel hurt if Leonard was dense and unreceptive.

"Well, like she said, she's not sure what to call her feelings for him. But she likes him. That much is clear, and I think he knows that part. Leonard's not as thick as he may appear. They both have things to learn."

Dock workers rushed to and fro around us. Sabin raised his eyebrows. "You're talking as if you know Leonard well."

"Obviously I don't, but I wasn't totally unfamiliar with the subjects that Arvis referenced, when he saw the Narshean with us. Those vague hearsay rumors that made it through the grapevine may hold some truth."

"Maybe you should talk to the Senator again. It's a shame that our old Narshe contact hates Terra's new friend." Sabin looked down and shook his head. "I know she was greatly hurt by Arvis's opinion. I don't blame her. I never would've thought Arvis would blow a fuse the way she described."

We passed through the harbor's gates and were now at the city street. A military squad brought us chocobos. "Maybe, but right now I must get to the command center and help file away this information, a new twist on Ultros's old habits." I pulled myself atop the bird as I spoke.

Sabin mounted his ride. "Good luck. I'm going home. Surviving yet another disaster has worked up my appetite, and Marielle is cooking ham. Even the mightiest of warriors need to fill their stomachs."

Not only could Sabin eat like a pig, he also _ate_ pig. From the way he licked his lips and rubbed his gut, I surmised that his girlfriend was making a roasted ham, one of his all-time favorites. "Well enjoy, and take care." We parted ways, Sabin riding back to his mountain cottage while the military crew and I rode to the command center.

Not much happened over the next couple days. The capital's residents conceded to the tax increase, though not without some objection. Though winter had just arrived, that meant nothing but cooler temperatures for the city in the once-barren desert. Figaro City didn't get much rainfall, even when coastal towns like South Figaro and Kohlingen received rainstorms and mountain cities like Narshe and Quildern got hit with snow. Water conservation was still in place.

The new monster outbreak was also on my mind. At least this last incident wasn't so mysterious. Ultros used Lone Wolf to vent his rage on the coliseum goers, lest he be seen and recognized by the Dragon's Neck staff. The Returners were also targets of the attack, so the motive was more defined. But, though studying the Shedairah creatures gave motive for the lab incident, the motive for Shedairah was still unclear.

As usual, I tried being optimistic. Setzer wouldn't be cheering anybody up soon, so it was my duty as King to lift spirits. Dealing with Ultros and the deceased Lone Wolf was at least something I was familiar with, in spite of their new powers. For the time being, that gave me some hope of solving this monster puzzle.

_change in s & n_

Against his desires (at least to an extent), Ruqojjen ordered a cleanup of the dungeon complex.

The dead bodies within the jail cells were a source of humbling to the prisoners, but they soon bore a neighborhood effect that was highly unwelcome. The smell of the rotting corpses was starting to affect the jailers who patrolled the prison. One jailer got so ill from the stench that she vomited. That was the last straw. As much as Ruqojjen wanted the prisoners to know their place, he didn't wish sickness upon those who guarded the prison. He ordered the rotting dead to be removed from the complex and disposed of. To keep from having too many opened cells at once, it was done in stages, starting with the most decayed bodies. Qaurjaeda and Dyal'xern were overseeing the final stage of the clean-up. If Baokiydu wasn't assisting them, he was up to some 'play time'.

The five of us sat on a patio balcony that overlooked the districts south of the palace, with the ocean spread across beyond. Chithagu was at my feet, happily chewing on some leftovers from last night's dinner. Ruqojjen sipped his scotch. He never did have a sweet tooth, unlike Sdalsyra and me. The two of us drank sodas, and offered one to our guest.

With thousands of captives packed together like sardines in the Marandan ship's cargo hold, it was natural that we'd overlook her. Yet here, she stood out, and it was impossible to overlook that she was incomplete…literally!

I'd met her when shopping at the nearby grocery market the day before. She'd actually been wandering the palace district looking for us, since we'd saved her and the other Lagionites. She had a story to tell, and Ruqojjen invited her to the palace, setting this time aside so she could tell it. Sdalsyra and I made it a point to be around as well.

Just two weeks before the Marandan army sacked Lagione, this girl celebrated her twelfth birthday. She was still young, but was old enough to be plenty ambitious. She also had some understanding of the atrocities that befell her.

She, her older brother, and her parents lived in anything but splendor. The girl's family lived in a one-room dwelling, as they couldn't afford anything else.

When the military began their raid, her father tried rushing the girl, her mom, and her teenage brother out through a sewage tunnel, accessed from a back corner in the only room. It had been their only hope of escape, yet the army was quick and precise in their raid. Her dad barely gave her brother the family hunting rifle before a squad of soldiers pounded on their door. He was forced to push his family into the drainage pipe without some much as a good-bye, covering the hole with a bookshelf and turning to fend off the intruding army.

Her father was a blacksmith, and tried using a mallet to battle the troops. Through a small hole in the wooden shelf, she was able to observe him knock one soldier down and break the bastard's knee. But he was outnumbered, and the Marandan troops possessed superior melee skills. From cover, the girl saw her father get beheaded with a hefty sword.

But the family's terror was far from over. After killing the blacksmith, the squad decided to loot the place. What they could expect find in a poor family's one-room hut was baffling, but they chose to ransack the place. During this, the bookcase that separated them from the secret tunnel was destroyed.

The fuckers wasted no time filing into the family's escape route. Armed with the rifle, her panicked brother managed to get one shot off. He was actually a great shot, from what the girl told us. The first grunt down the tunnel was hit in the mouth and died instantly.

But just like his father, the teen's fighting skills weren't on the level of his oppressors. Bow-gunners fired arrows at the youth, and all three struck him in the face, taking him from his mom and sister as they watched. The rest of the troops, well-fed and physically trained, chased down the starving mother and daughter with ease, capturing them and bringing them aboard the awaiting ship.

Once on board, they were both taken to an empty corridor. Most of the troops left to continue the roundup, but one stayed on board with the girl and her mother. He was the squad leader; the girl deduced this from the way his peers addressed him. After placing her in shackles, he dragged her mother away, declaring 'This is how we deal with disobedience'.

The girl didn't hear or see what the soldier was doing. She was spared that much at least. But the man returned several minutes later, asking some arriving soldiers to dispose of a corpse. As the troops complied, the soldier turned to the girl and said that she'd make 'better company'. He grabbed her in a hold, unlocked her chains, and began carrying her to another room.

The desperate girl knew what lay ahead. She had only one option, one chance to prevent the humiliating torture she was certain had been inflicted upon her late mother. She took the opportunity.

She unsheathed the dagger in the soldier's belt and thrust it at his throat.

The young girl hit the target, but not as she intended. Instead of goring his jugular, the blade went upwards through his jaw and into his mouth. Furious (though he had no right to feel that way), the man drew his axe and disarmed her, in a very literal sense.

Yet he still felt she'd serve a use. He cauterized her wound by some means she couldn't remember and threw her in the cargo hold with the rest of the captured Lagionites. I asked her if she could describe the man. She said he was heavyset with broad shoulders and graying hair, nothing like the younger, curly-haired rapist from the harbor.

But even after all this girl had suffered—losing her father and brother in the raid, knowing her mother had been raped before her death, and receiving a crippling injury—nothing prepared me for what she told us next. After she was placed in the cargo hold by the sub-human filth, a woman came up to him, and the two embraced. After sharing some affection, the bastard told this woman about the girl and her family. The woman's response was to call the girl a 'repulsive, ungrateful little wretch'.

That woman was in love with a rapist! She supported and condoned his sexist actions.

The girl hadn't been raped. She was spared from that too. Giving the soldier a wound on his face could be thanked for that. But a future as a sex-slave was certainly awaiting her in the Duke's hands.

I tensed up when she finished her tale. I could see Ruqojjen's eye twitch once or twice, but the disciplined High Shenthaxa contained himself. Sdalsyra was different. I could tell what was on the feminist Pung Thoshidei's mind. She felt for the girl's mother, that she couldn't stop the woman from becoming a rape victim. But that wasn't all she was thinking about. Sdalsyra was by no means foul-tempered, but there was a fury welling up inside her. Had she fed and fully charged her essence, she could've unleashed a torrent of caustic acid so powerful that it would instantly turn both solid stone and steel alloys into chalk dust without differentiating the two.

But she held her powers back. There was no need for them right now.

As Sdalsyra calmed herself, Ruqojjen sipped his beverage. "You and the Divine are both victims of the same greed, the same megalomania, the same lust for power and domination." And Maranda's government wasn't even loyal to the Gestahlian dictatorship. They were fighting House Virnone of Tzen, a pro-Gestahl power.

But Gestalians were just one variety of such a breed. They weren't the first. The Duke of Maranda, among others, was hoping to be the next.

I shuddered as I looked the girl over. A dark, rough stump marked where her right arm had once been, a painful reminder of her ordeal and of Duke's malice. I reached over and took her left hand, her only remaining hand. Tears balanced precariously on her eyelashes, but didn't fall. We could thank ourselves for giving her the strength to hold them back.

Chithagu was more perceptive than one might've thought. He got up and walked over to the girl's feet, pulling his horns back to a short length and nuzzling her shin. She let go of my hand and reached down to stroke his neck.

The girl went on about how she missed her family, especially her older brother. She learned how to hunt and fish from him. She had no family now. After we'd brought the Lagionites back here, she'd been living with her neighbors from the town.

Sdalsyra connected with a huge aspect of the girl's tale. "I once had a sister, but she was taken from me by the oppressive traditions of my homeland." While sympathy was abundant in her face, there was a subliminal undertone of contempt. I knew Sdalsyra well enough to catch her implied subtext; _Damn robust breeding!_

Ruqojjen took a sip of scotch. "They will pay for what they did to you, and for what they surely intend elsewhere," he declared with sincerity. The girl lifted her chin, empowered by his words. "They will suffer, I have sworn to that." He looked the adolescent girl straight in the eye, meeting her dark blue irises. "They're our enemies, and we'll treat them as such. We don't have to respect their rights as people. We shouldn't. If we could, they wouldn't _be_ our enemies to begin with." As the girl took another drink of her soda, she nodded. She was quick to catch on to reason. Fuck the stereotype that young people are stupid. This girl was a prime example of someone who proved it wrong. Youths learn best when they're allowed to see life for themselves, not when they are cooped up and denied their personal freedom. Young does not so easily mean stupid.

But try telling the figureheads of the Jrysthovuhn Council that. Those old geezers wouldn't understand that truth if you shoved it up their asses with a spear.

"The Divine has suffered greatly. It is weak now, so weak that magic's absence will help it very little, at least directly." Ruqojjen elaborated as the girl listened. "Old customs did little to prevent its misfortune, and sometimes they encouraged it. Such customs didn't save your family, your arm, or your town. It's a time for change. Against enemies like ours, we can do whatever we must in order to win, and to prevent such cataclysms from repeating."

"Except for rape. We oppose that. In fact, we plan to make both it and the need for it extinct," Sdalsyra offered. Again, the girl caught on. She was empowered by Sdalsyra's promise. Score another one for Girl Power.

I finished my drink and tossed the empty can into a bucket near the patio entrance. The girl was finishing hers. "Wow," she beamed. "Your Divine must really be special."

We all blinked. "Excuse me?" I asked.

Ruqojjen laughed, humored instead of confused. "_Our_ Divine? Dear, no one can own the Divine. It cannot belong to anyone. If anything, _we_ belong to _it_. It will outlive us, but if it dies, we perish too." He paused to take another swig from his alcohol bottle. "The Divine is host to many, and a great fraction of them rape its Spirit Stream as naturally as they shit and piss, doing exactly that to its vitality. But," he changed his tone "the Divine can be shared, by those who care for and respect it, and who do their part to help it."

The girl took another drink of soda. "Can I be one of them?"

As an uncle would smile when amazed by his niece, Ruqojjen cast a grin upon his pale face. "Of course. The Divine sustains you, so it's in your best interest to preserve it. You can share in its vast arcane mysteries if you do." He reached over and put a hand upon her shoulder, mindful to avoid the rigid scar tissue on the remains of her forearm. "You know, you are much like the Divine in many ways. You're beautiful and filled with potential, yet trounced upon and kept from shining. I believe in you."

"Aw." She returned the grin with considerable excitement.

"Because of that, I will replace your missing arm."

Her smile vanished. She looked as though she'd topple over from her chair. "Huh? What...are…you…saying?"

"I wasn't born with this. Look." I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue. I let it curve about at a yard's length before dividing it into three, each end with its own fang tip.

Our guest's confusion gave way to astonishment. "Wha…whoa…th-that's awesome!" Her eyeballs tracked all three ends as I pulled them back into my mouth.

"The Divine works wonders, if you can understand the workings of its Spirit Stream," Ruqojjen proclaimed proudly.

The pre-teen gulped down her final soda drink, amazed but still unsure of how to respond. Finally, she asked the question she'd been pondering. "How do you plan on doing that?"

The High Shenthaxa finished his drink and tossed the bottle into the bucket with the soda can. "It's hard to explain without seeing it for yourself. Do you recall anything about that woman who praised that rapist on the boat?"

"Um I think." She looked off, trying remembering something she'd hoped to forget. Though it was no picnic to think about the experience, Ruqojjen asked because he felt it was necessary. She turned from Albrook's skyline back to us. "She had wavy red hair and wore a kind of sailor's uniform."

Ruqojjen stood and pointed behind him. "So she was a crew member of the ship. That means she could be in the dungeon right now. We'll head over there and inspect the cells. Maybe you'll recognize one of the captives as her." I stood and pushed in my chair as Sdalsyra got up and tossed another finished can aside. The excited girl threw her own empty can at the bucket, but missed. Without any prodding, Chithagu trotted over, picked the can up in his jaws, and dropped it in.

The girl was about to open her mouth and reply, but a new voice cut her off. "High Shenthaxa! It's happened again." An armored soldier appeared in the balcony doorway. "Only this time, we couldn't stop it in its infancy."

"What?" Ruqojjen's voice was collected, but he still sensed the trouble.

The man shook his head. "Another prison riot."

_change in s_

How did this happen?

Just beyond the doorway leading to the cellblock corridor in question, a Nyufalng prison guard lay slumped against the wall, his own two swords plunged into his chest. Such details were expected. Ruqojjen bent down and touched the deceased on the forehead, whispering a few words under his breath.

Further into the holding complex, a female troop greeted us, looking up from her bloodied, bandaged hand. Ruqojjen ignored pleasantries and got straight to the questions. "What happened?"

The woman looked behind her, where a headless guard's corpse was sprawled on the hall floor with the neck stub against the bars. The fresh blood puddle on the opposing side of told us the guard was decapitated by the sliding bar door. Beyond that was the corpse of a prisoner, arrows stuck in the base of his skull. "As of now, we're still trying to figure that out. Opening the cells to remove the dead bodies was a key factor. We've all agreed on that."

"It's true," agreed another voice. A second guard appeared behind her, hobbling over to us. "I do recall someone yelling about a guard who didn't answer the password question."

Sdalsyra rolled her eyes, though not at the limping guard. "How's that possible? Everyone who patrols this dungeon knows that a password is ordered when anybody enters or exits the place, and they all know how to answer."

Ruqojjen folded his arms and looked down at the floor. He was tight with security around here. The password was a Jrysthovuhn word, something that couldn't be guessed at random. It was to ensure that no one with suspicious intents was allowed access in here. Likewise, the guards would also question anyone who left the place. The sentries all knew the password like the back of their hands, and none ever forgot to ask it, since there were always two posted at each exit in case one accidentally broke the good habit. The guards on duty had done their job, questioning the person who was trying to leave. The departing individual however…

The password was required for exiting to ensure that only Nyufalng personnel were leaving. Before I could even voice my conclusion, Ruqojjen beat me to it. "That evasive guard wasn't a guard at all. Passwords were never spoken around prisoners."

The limping man nodded as he fit the pieces together. "After they yelled that he didn't know the password, some fighting began. Before I knew it, all the cells were opened by their occupants, and the riot had commenced."

Ruqojjen placed a hand on the wounded guy's shoulder. "You did what you could. Let's look around more." He faced the rest of us. "Maybe we'll get an answer."

None of the live guards had serious injuries. Anybody inflicted with serious wounds was easily killed right after. Each vacant cell was inspected. All the sliding doors were unlocked, easily the work of that bogus guard. As we neared the end of the cell block, Chithagu started rasping. "Ajalni Ajalni. I'm find an corpse in here bed."

I rushed to join him in one of the last cells. His acute nose rewarded him, and the rest of us. I pulled back the bed covers and found a dead body. But this corpse bore no signs of rioting, and was too decayed to be fresh. This meat was dead before the riot had started.

Ruqojjen and Sdalsyra joined us. The one-armed girl stayed out in the hall. "Why the hell would you put a corpse in your bed?" Sdalsyra examined the stiff, looking for an explanation as to how and why it was in a prisoner's cot.

It struck me. "Maybe the prisoner played dead, acting the like the corpse so the guard would remove him from the cell. Once out, he took the sentry by surprise, field stripped the gear, and tried acting like one of us." I prided myself on finding a reasonable answer.

Ruqojjen expounded on that finding. "And that forgetful soldier was this prisoner in disguise. He took keys and unlocked the cell doors, instructing for them to be opened when he gave a signal, which happened when the real guards stalled him at the exit."

Groans from the cell door caught my attention. Dyal'xern stood there with a bloodied rip on the thigh of his pant leg. A slash wound was clearly underneath. "They timed it right." He wiped blood from the long cut down his temple as he spoke. "They must have predicted what cells would be opened next for cleanup, and this guy played opossum when our backs were turned. Rather crafty, I have to say. He must've been an Albrooker military vet."

Behind him, Qaurjaeda staggered over. "And they got us when we hadn't charged our essences, when our abilities weren't at their most potent." He reached down to rub his foot. The Grav-wielder's left-front ankle was swollen, and his left horn was chipped. But those minor in comparison to the bleeding puncture wound on his diaphragm, to the left of his armored chest plate. He coughed up blood before explaining. "I took a face full of cinder block, and some prisoner lunged at me with a guard's pike while I was gagging on the dust. When he landed the blow, his buddy came in to help push…" The Grav-wielder spit out more blood.

Sdalsyra reached for his wound. "Did they pierce your lung?" Getting stabbed in the lung with a pole arm would be fatal to man twice over, but Qaurjaeda was a Pung Thoshidei. His stamina and endurance were astonishing.

Qaurjaeda took some breaths. "Maybe, but I'm still here. I still out-muscled them both, crushing one's skull and nailing the other to the wall with his own spear."

Even with blood trickling down his cheek, Dyal'xern put on a natural smirk. "Of course we stopped them. We're Pung Thoshidai. They may have gotten the drop, but we kicked their asses big-time." Leave it to the Air-smasher to boost our egos.

"You'll heal when you feed." Ruqojjen gestured around at the dead prisoners littering the prison's stone floor. "Find Baokiydu and get this mess cleaned up. And spread our new policy for low-profile captives." He described his new practice to the Air-smasher and the Grav-wielder. It made sense. It would completely avoid the risk of another riot, and would still allow the prisoners to be of use. It only applied to general captives, as important ones like the 'special catch' in solitary would remain as they were. The solitary block hadn't been touched by the riot.

When Dyal'xern and Qaurjaeda departed, Ruqojjen addressed Sdalsyra, Chithagu, and I. "Let's not forget our other reason for coming here. That rape-lover could be among the survivors."

It took little searching. A group of guards was huddled around a prisoner, a woman with red hair. Ruqojjen motioned for the girl to join us. "Is this that bitch you were talking about earlier?"

The teen and the captive locked eyes. The girl's twisted menacingly while the captive's face almost melted off in shock.

_change in s & n_

Charise and I sat across from each other in the throne room, having rotated the ornate, gold-plated chairs to face the table between us. We both were looking through reports on revenue from the increased taxation for the plumbing system, and how the project was coming along.

As Charise finished reading the tax notes, I heard footsteps. "My King, you've a visitor from your circle." I faced a senior officer from my Royal Guard.

"Admit them." I gave him permission to allow the visitor, as I was almost finished reading. The 'circle' was a moniker for the collective Returners, save for Cyan and Sabin, who were always referenced by their titles.

Moments later, the visitor entered. We were greeted by a very enthusiastic Relm with a smile more radiant than a midday sun. Charise patted the Thamasan teen on her shoulder. "Dear, what are you so happy about?"

"Look what I got!" Relm pulled a photographic postcard from her pocket. "It's personally from DuParme."

Lord Yves DuParme was a wealthy, influential Jidooran aristocrat, and a close friend of Owzer's. It was through the art collector that we met him.

I was glad for Relm. Whatever was on that postcard had the girl overrun with joy. But what was it? I reached for the piece of mail in her hand. "Why all the giddiness?"

She gave me the card. The first detail I noticed was its postmark. It had been mailed from Fondanin.

Another of the northern continent's vast countries, Jidoor had monopolized most of the area south of the Dranaghis Highlands. It was a great sprawl, as the wealthy nation had colonized areas up the coasts to the northeast and northwest, not to mention the Cape of Dorcin, the long finger of land with the famous Opera House at the tip.

Jidoor had various districts surrounding its namesake capital. Fondanin was one such extension, located to the northeast of the central town. Like the rest of Jidoor, Fondanin was predominantly inhabited by the rich class. More so, Fondanin's populous was largely comprised of aristocrats and military officials who were close to the government.

Of course, like the rest of Jidoor, Fondanin had a side of art and aesthetics that helped it look like more than the average superpower. The message of this postcard displayed that side. A military official had been promoted to a government rank, and a festive celebration was planned for the occasion. It would last a few days, and would include a ball, a feast, an opera performance, several competition games, and to kick things off, a parade. This last feature was the immediate topic of the postcard.

Relm bounced up and down on her toes excitedly, as she did when I first met her four nearly four years back. I doubted she'd outgrow that liveliness anytime soon. "Yves has invited me to help out in the jubilee. He wants my artistic eye to help in decorating for the upcoming parade." As a close associate to the central government, Yves was partly responsible for setting up the occasion. He knew of Relm's talents and wished to utilize them for that purpose. "He trusts me so much. I gotta go!"

She wasn't asking us for permission. Though we'd been more present in her life than her mother or Shadow, we were the King and Queen of Figaro, not her parents. She was likely asking if we could arrange for her some transportation to Fondanin, as the Falcon was out of service, and the card mentioned that all Fondanite transit utilities were in use for the occasion. I wished her the best, but I had some doubts about this whole thing.

I knew something was very screwy about Jidoor and its suburbs. There was hardly any lower-class in the country. Even what would qualify as middle class was a rare find. Though it would first appear as a wonderful means of elevating the collective society above poverty, the truth was much less glamorous. Jidoor didn't wipe out poorness within its dominion through means of charity and equal distribution of wealth, but by forcing out those who didn't have a large enough wallet. The cover story was that poor people left of their own freewill, but that explanation was only a half-truth. Lower-class Jidoorans _did_ leave willingly, but only because they had no other choice, outside of public ridicule. The result was Zozo, a town ruled by crime syndicates, where prostitution and drug manufacturing were chief businesses.

Seeing how these organized crime rings would feud with each other over turf, money, and just about anything else did explain why Jidoor evicted those people as so. But would these gangs be fighting if they weren't in their desperate state? Jidoor never took time to find out. I'd only been to Zozo twice—first while searching for Terra before the great collapse, and later when searching for Cyan after—and I had no reason to go back. It was full of undesirables, like a prison, but without the bars and regulations. Yet I couldn't help but wonder if any of its population, rare as they might be, were decent people, trying to make an honest living.

This pending series of events to celebrate a military officer's rise in power had me questioning Jidoor's intentions even more. Jidoor had power before the great collapse, as they were a neutral nation. They were shadowed only by the Empire on the southern continent in terms of wealth and high-standing. Even after the destructive great collapse, Jidoor retained its high standards of living, though they were very reluctant to share their resources with others in need. However, they did strike a treaty with the Duke of Maranda, as a land mass was connecting the Marandan capital with the Cape of Dorcin at the time. Even when that land mass was destroyed after Kefka's death, the treaty remained. However, Jidoor pulled out of that conflict after suffering heavy losses in the assault on their military outpost in Foraziale some months back. It was unclear if the alliance was still in place.

But Jidoor's political ambitions were just as strong as ever. This upcoming promotion of an army vet was a sure sign that plans were in the works. I wasn't trying to make snap judgments, but I couldn't ignore my gut telling me that Jidoor had imperialistic goals. Vardigga was no less skeptical than I was. They had little trust in Jidoor, placing no more confidence in it than they placed in Zozo. It was a rare occurrence in which the mountain country and I actually agreed upon something.

Relm tapped her thighs restlessly. "Well?" She and my wife turned their vividly-colored eyes toward me as they both waited for an answer.

Fondanin was certainly not hostile territory like Vector had been, but I wasn't favoring the idea of sending Relm into the heart of a nation with questionable objectives. However, on the flipside, Relm was really looking forward to participating in the setup for this festival. If I denied her request, she'd hate me for it, more than likely. How could I let her down?

I had to stall. I wanted her to go, but I wasn't sure if this celebration was a prelude to some bid for power in the northern land. I gazed at my wife, than at Relm, trying to find an answer that would satisfy the teen while letting me think this over.

It was easy. The answer was in the current situation. "I would love to arrange transit for you, but at the moment, I have greater matters to acknowledge, such as this new monster evolution. I'll see what I can do, but I can't promise anything right now."

Relm inhaled and softened up. "Sure. It's not for a while. The academy will soon let out for the winter solstice, and the festival isn't until than. But don't disappoint me. A King must serve his peoples' interests, and since I live in this city, my interest is included." She was pinning me into a corner. I, the great King of Figaro, was being defeated by a pubescent fourteen-year-old girl. In a very short time, she wouldn't let me say no. "C'mon Edgar. It's not in your blood to disappoint a lady like me."

Before I knew it, I was laughing hysterically and almost fell off my throne, a behavior fit for someone half my age. Leave it to Relm to instill in others bouts of de-maturity. I forced back the laughter and responded. "I get it, I get it. Like I said, I'll look into setting up a boat ride or the like, but not at the moment. Have some patience."

"Okay, but I'll ask again if need be." After making that firm promise, Relm turned and strutted out throne room door.

Now that she was gone, I could discuss the matter with Charise. "So what do you think? Is there any danger in sending Relm to help out with the decorating? We both agree that Jidoor isn't the most exemplary nation around."

Charise traced a circular pattern on the table with her finger. "I understand your concern, but let's be honest. What could possibly go wrong? She's close to this Lord DuParme, so I'm sure he'll take excellent care of her. He's probably arranged for some lodging at his place. She'll most likely be staying with him."

That was true. What could happen? If she was staying with Yves, she'd be in good hands. He was no less a Returner associate than Arvis. He was a friend. Maybe Jidoor could be a potential ally. That way, I could keep tabs on what they were up to, if anything. There was no reason to get paranoid about letting Relm visit Fondanin, though the question of arranging her departure trip was still a factor. I hadn't been lying when I said it would take time to prepare.

As I addressed Charise's point, she picked up the reports from the Treasury. "I'll go file these away." She stood and departed my company just as Relm had moments before.

Once she left, I slouched in my throne, wondering which entrée the dining staff would be serving later on. As I gazed up at the ceiling, someone approached. "Did you forget some…oh hey Sabin."

He smiled proudly. "I have been thinking."

I sat upright. "About what?"

He took a seat in the throne Charise had vacated. "About Terra and Leonard. I think those two should be together and see each other more."

What brought this up? Did Sabin have some kind of idea regarding the half-esper and the Narshean? "I'm not sure I understand."

"If we can see them together more frequently, we can learn something more about their exact feelings towards each other. Where is Leonard anyway?"

I looked south, toward the dairy farm. "Most likely he's gone home by now, and I'm not sure when his next workday is. I'm not sure where he lives in Narshe either."

Sabin mumbled, glancing down at the marble floor panels. "I've not seen Terra since yesterday's lesson."

"She's got free time today. I think she's paying Mog that visit. What's on your mind?"

Sabin placed his elbow on the arm of the throne. "Since these new super monsters have the future looking cloudy, and since I'm curious about what the guy can do, I was thinking."

"Yes? What's your ingenious idea?"

He put on the signature grin of the Figaro clan. "The next time he gets off work, have someone deliver this message to him."

_change in s & n_

The moogles' cave was bustling with its collection of inhabitants, kupoing away as usual. Mog wasn't around the main bunch. He was elsewhere in the cave, in a long hallway with rail-cart tracks.

I sat on a wooden bench atop a loading platform. Mog was next to me. Before I asked him about talking creatures, I briefed him on the events since we'd last spoken.

"Kupo? The thing destroyed the doc's lab?"

I nodded. "That's what the lab specialists told the military. I can tell you the real truth as you're a Returner. Just don't share it with the general public. Edgar wants the vital information to be kept close." I spoke in a quite tone, even though the room was occupied only by the two of us.

I also told him about the Olistes massacre. Though Mog was blessed with never having encountered Ultros, he had plenty of firsthand experience with Lone Wolf. The canine humanoid once tried to throw Mog from a cliff when our group was trying to welcome the moogle. Mog had broken free, much to the wolf's dismay.

"Kup-p-p-puko!" The stunned moogle nearly fell off the bench. Revealing that Lone Wolf had evolved from a pickpocket to a literal man-eater was the last thing Mog expected (and wanted) to hear.

I folded my hands in my lap. "That's exactly what we thought when he literally dropped in, though Setzer was more enraged than baffled, as the dead were some of his regulars."

I went on to describe the ambush from Ultros and Chupon, how they tampered with the Falcon's machinery with hopes to cause a crash, how Celes killed Lone Wolf to protect Setzer, and how the gambler landed the ship in the water just in time. He eased up slightly at the mention of the wolf's death.

"Kupo! You've been having some real adventures, I must say." Mog's antenna stood on end. "Is that why you're visiting, to inform me of all this action?"

I shifted my position on the bench and sat cross-legged. "Partly, but also I wanted to ask you about these creatures. It was actually Leonard's idea, but he's been working more than I have, so I'm doing the honors."

Mog looked surprised yet again. "What about them?"

"As a talking non-human, do you have any idea what might be causing this evolution of smart monsters? Edgar left a message regarding Cid's findings on the Shedairah samples, and I'm sure it was passed along to you. And how did Lone Wolf come to be?"

Mog wagged his tail as he gazed into space. "Ku…sorry Terra, but you're asking the wrong moogle. But you can't another, since I'm the only one who can talk coherently. Don't ask me why I'm gifted in that respect. I just am."

"Hmm," I sighed, folding my arms and looking down at the rail tracks. Maybe it was too high an expectation to assume that Mog would know something about these smart creatures. Still, there were more facets to the topic. "But do you know anything about Lone Wolf?"

Mog shook his head. "Only that he tried throwing me into a chasm to the north as a means to keep you at bay. He just showed up and no one paid him any attention. We all just assumed he was a life form not much different than Umaro or the rest of my kin."

"Well, thanks anyway." If Mog didn't know, he was just as clueless as the rest of us. However, the mention of the yeti grabbed my curiosity. "How is Umaro, by the way?"

Mog started to open his mouth, but a thumping from behind cut him off. He glanced over his shoulder, then back at me. "Kupoppo. Terra would you give me a minute to check this out?"

"Go ahead. I'll wait."

"Kupo. Be right back." He walked toward the thump's direction. After what seemed like five minutes, I decided to check up on him. He never said it was private, and a thud like that would attract attention. I proceeded down the hallway until I heard a noisy chattering.

"What are you doing you idiot? You can't use these to clean the tool heads."

"I not see any other brush kind."

"Look around, dumb shit. They're kept in more than one place, you know. Wait, you wouldn't know."

"They all dirty. They all no good for…"

"Look harder, kupo! It takes less time to find one than it does to clean the tool tips with this brush. Look, it scrapes off nothing."

"I look but I no…"

"Do it again, and be more thorough this time. If these tips aren't cleaned by dinner, you get no treats. And you lost your treat privileges once already this week. Now get your ass to work!"

So the yeti was still slacking, just like the last time I came by with Leonard. That time, Mog was oblivious to our eves-dropping. Now, he was aware of my presence. He excused himself because he didn't want an audience to the issue. I immediately ran back to the loading zone's work bench so Mog wouldn't know I'd witnessed the altercation.

He came back a minute later. "So?" I asked, pretending I was oblivious. "I was asking about Umaro."

"Ku…right." I waited for the answer. Would Mog be honest with me? "Umaro's been a lazy ass for a few weeks now. I get on his case to shape up but he's been very incompetent, wasting time, not following directions. I think I should whip some sense into him."

So Mog wasn't denying the situation. Still, I wouldn't let on what I'd overheard twice now. "Whatever you say. You know what goes on around here."

Mog stood up from his seat on the bench. "Right. I'd best get back to work. I'm not counting on Umaro to do his share correctly. Kupokopu, Terra. Great to see you again."

I gave Mog a pat on the back and let him return to business.

Was Umaro's incompetence a pattern now? This was the second time I'd heard Mog call him out on a sloppy performance, and from the moogle's words, it seemed like this happened a few other times since then.

But Umaro did sound hurt. What if Mog was making hasty assumptions about the yeti's work habits? Umaro said that he couldn't find the required brush, and I gathered he was making due with a different one, so he was trying. What if his efforts were going unnoticed by Mog, who was possibly mistaken with his criticisms?

I decided not to think about it. It wasn't my conflict, and I had more important things to ponder. Besides, Umaro wasn't stupid. If he made errors, he could learn from them. Best to let Mog deal with the matter.

_change in s & n_

To the east of Albrook were the Falpuryn Hills. They didn't exist in the pre-collapse world. Only after magic's passing did geological shifts in the ravaged landscape force the flatland upwards. These hills were the result, and it was here atop the closest hill, overlooking the metropolis of Albrook, that Yithadri set up her quarters; a structure with a few short expansions reaching out from a chamber with a large, high domed roof on top. Though accessible by foot or wagon, techies had installed a cable car for quickly and conveniently hauling large amounts of freight to the top.

As the car doors opened, the one-armed girl looked at us. "When I get a new arm, will I be able to swing a sword?"

Sdalsyra smiled as we stepped out. "When you get this new arm, you won't even _need_ a fucking sword."

Behind us, Chithagu carried the unconscious rape-supporter on his back. She was bound and gagged with one of Sdalsyra's non-corrosive goop strands, and a chokehold back in the dungeon left her unconscious.

At the door leading into the structure's domed area, Nyufalng troops greeted us. Ruqojjen explained the reason for the crippled girl's presence, and she was admitted with the rest of us.

The inside of the dome-topped room was vast, larger than the outer appearance would suggest. The perimeter of the room was lined with a paved stone walkway, as most of the floor space was occupied with a large round hole. A dozen feet down at the bottom of this hole was the natural rock and soil of the hilltop.

Though electric lights were provided in this area, they were used minimally, as candles and torches provided most of the chamber's lighting. The young girl looked around in admiration at the interior design. This shrine was given more of a traditional Jrysthovuhn decorative motif.

We approached one of the catwalks leading to an elevated platform in the center of the room, at the midpoint of the circular pit. The girl was still awestruck as we headed toward the centered ledge. If the architecture brought this kind of reaction from her, I was eager to see her reactions to getting a replacement arm.

Yithadri was in a kneeling position, mediating on the platform. Her aides acknowledged us and went to announce our presence. "Honored Shamaness Juyolahriss. The High Shenthaxa and his company are here to see you." An aide tapped her lightly on the shoulder, more out of courtesy than caution. Yithadri's meditations were deep, but not something akin to hibernation. She didn't startle when interrupted.

The Honored Shamaness stood, smoothed out her tan robe, and looked down at our visitor. "I presume you intend to replace the young lady's missing limb. Have you something for the procedure?"

"Do we ever," Sdalsyra announced. She looked down at Chithagu, who took a hint and squatted, letting the comatose captive slide off his back and onto the platform's tiled surface. "The bitch's lover took this girl's arm, after raping her mother."

As Sdalsyra reached for the goop strand and absorbed it back into her fingers, Yithadri rolled her eyes at the prone captive. "A woman who loves and supports one who defiles her kind. This will also be the punishment for her treachery."

A groan sounded, and the bitch began rolling over. "We better do this quick. Guess who's out of dreamland." Ruqojjen stepped over to the traitor and kicked her in the chest. Half-awake, she could only grunt as the air was knocked out of her.

As she was gasping, Yithadri's aides reached for a nearby set of shackles. Steel beams crossed over the center platform from the far walls, and sets of binds hung down from them, two pairs per chain. The aides placed the groggy woman's ankles in the upper set while securing her hands behind her back in the lower set. She wasn't hanging totally upside-down, but was at a steep angle.

"Betrayer," Sdalsyra spat in disgust as the woman was fastened in. She turned her eyes to Ruqojjen. "Before we begin this procedure, I _must_ give this gender traitor a piece of my mind."

"Make it quick," Ruqojjen approved. That Sdalsyra despised rapists was an understatement. But for women who willingly supported them and sided with them, she would feel no less disgust. Certainly this women wasn't afraid of the rapist she loved. Were that the case, she'd have killed him in self-defense, cutting his throat while he slept. Instead, she called the crippled pre-teen a little wretch after the soldier cleaved off her arm. This…thing wasn't a woman, just a sub-human in women's flesh.

Sdalsyra was in the traitor's face. "You loved that man, even after he cut a pre-teen's arm off and raped the girl's mom to death. You should have been sticking knives in his balls and a corkscrew up his ass crack, but you _loved _him. Your disloyalty won't be tolerated any longer." With that, she reached for the betrayer's thumb. "For this girl," she declared, bending it back as a crazy angle. A snap was heard, followed by a grunt on the bitch's part. "For her brother." That preceded the bending and breaking of the pointer finger. "For her dad." Snap went the middle finger. "For her mom." A fourth snap and another groan. Sdalsyra was now holding the pinky. "For all other people your _man_ fucked with." The pinky finger was then a twisted wreck.

Ruqojjen tapped the platform's railing. "Are you done?"

"For now." Sdalsyra backed away from the betrayer, having vented herself for the time being.

"Then we can start." Yithadri faced her aides, who lowered the section of railing directly under the suspension beam. It had a track inside, which the hanging chains could slide along. The captive was pushed through the opened railing, stopping directly over the soil. When the bitch was in place, Yithadri looked at Sdalsyra. "Since you've been ambitious, you can initiate the flow."

The Pung Thoshidei said nothing, simply letting a plum-colored blob of slime ooze from her palm. Sparing one last glance at the enemy of Girl Power, she tossed the blob at the traitor's neck.

The bitch moaned as her neck flesh was drained of color. Her dried skin broke apart and blood poured from the hole on her throat. The deep red liquid seeped downwards and splattered on the dirt below. At that point, Yithadri resumed her meditative posture. The blood pool started to shimmer and glow.

All of us knew what was coming, except for the one-armed girl. I leaned close. "Just relax. I remember how it felt when I got my new tongue. Just let it all come to you." I stepped back so nothing would transfer to me. The girl would receive it all.

The four of us vacated the platform, watching from the catwalk and leaving the young girl with Yithadri and the two apprentices. An aura framed the Honored Shamaness and the pair of mystics, much like the glow that outlined a streetlamp at nighttime. Yithadri whispered an incantation under her breath as the splashed blood glowed even more. It was no longer red. Its color was more akin to a celery green combined with a mustard yellow, flickering back and forth between the two colors. The jewel-studded gargoyles on the platform's rails were emitting waves of energy, transparent curves of light purple and pale blue that reached toward the ceiling dome before spreading out and dissipating.

Below, a shrill chiming noise came from the bloodied soil, now emitting sparks of iridescent green and white that lingered in the air like fire-flies. As the chiming increased, the cloud of glittering dust rose upward, making its way toward the girl's shoulder as though it had a life of its own.

The girl was motionless. I could see her face, a mix of stunned awe and uncontainable excitement revealed through her wide-eyed stare and full smile. She remained at ease, letting the sparkles float around the scar tissue of her missing arm.

The specks of light amassed at her shoulder and a glowing mass formed as more sparkles and energy waves spiraled towards her. The glowing mass took the vague shape of a forearm. As more sparkles gathered on the larger one, the outline of a full arm and fingered hand could be seen.

Finally, the chimes were quiet and the sparkling vanished. The statues ceased radiating their energy, and the aura surrounding Yithadri and her aides was gone. The girl looked at her brand new arm from all possible sides and angles, as though she was expecting something different, something her first arm lacked. She caught on quickly.

I went to her side. She was scratching vigorously at the topside of her wrist. "Um…why does it itch so, and what are these lines?"

"Just wait and see," I assured her. "You have a new arm, with some new, shall I say, _gifts_." I waited.

A large spike began growing from the itchy spot in question. The girl let out a surprised gasp at first, but settled down when she saw that I was calm. When the dagger-like bone protrusion was fully extended, she examined the sides of her wrist. A pair of smaller, shorter spikes had emerged near the longer one's base.

The girl was now grasping what she's just experienced and received. She alternated between tensing and relaxing her new right hand, sheathing and unsheathing the blades. "Those are your new weapons," I pointed out. "You can fight with them."

"I told you that you wouldn't need a sword," Sdalsyra proclaimed as she recalled her words from earlier.

Yithadri pointed at the girl's bare shoulder, as the adolescent was wearing a strapless top. "That's not all you have. Flex your shoulder."

From the skin, now smooth and bearing no hint of scar tissue, a lump began to rise. The girl would've been horrified under different circumstances, but this was no tumor. It was another gift. An opening appeared in the growth's front side, and something that resembled a very bloodshot eye was revealed as the skin slid away. The 'pupil' contracted, the 'eye' flashed, and a wisp of light was expelled from the gland. The silvery blast flew over the pit, where it stopped and expanded in a cloud of energy similar to ball lightning before disappearing.

"Now relax," Yithadri instructed. The girl complied. The hand blades slid back into their slats while the eyeball closed and the lump sank back into her shoulder. Perfectly hidden, there wasn't even the slightest trace of these new organs.

"So how do you feel?" Ruqojjen stepped up to the girl.

The girl was no longer silent. She burst out laughing, her cheers filling the chamber and echoing off the dome overhead. "I feel like I could kick the ass of the whole Marandan army right now!" Indeed she was filled with energy, as the process always enhanced the physical status of its recipient. "But…how'd you do this?"

"The Divine's Spirit Stream has a way of touching damaged organisms. It contains a very important life force with which it sustains itself." Ruqojjen gestured around. "What it can do for us is more than words can describe. 'Marvelous' doesn't even come close."

Yithadri's aides were reeling in and unchaining the treacherous execution subject's corpse, now completely drained of blood. The Honored Shamaness motioned downwards at the blood-soaked rock. "Blood is essential to an organism's body, much like the Spirit Stream's energy flow is essential to the Divine. When the two energies are combined and channeled, wonders are performed. What you just saw is only a fraction of what can be accomplished."

Sdalsyra leaned against the catwalk railing. "As you surely have guessed, my powers are some of the greatest, which is thanks to this." She pointed at her Pirusymn stone. "Too bad there can't be more of these, but the Divine's been ill for some time, so it has its limits."

"I with a essence too," Chithagu rasped, wagging his tail and proving he was attentive. He walked over and looked up at the girl. "I'm too got a specialties skills." Inarticulate or not, Chithagu also had a Pirusymn stone. He too was a Pung Thoshidei, though unlike the rest, 'warrior' hardly fit his description.

Yithadri's apprentices carried the dried up carcass off the platform and outside for disposal. The young girl brandished her new weapons. "So what exactly is this…change called?"

"Sragnijus druasunoi," Ruqojjen answered matter-of-factly.

"Sarg…ah…dru…si…huh?" The girl was tongue-tied, unable to clearly articulate the Jrysthovuhn terminology.

I placed a hand on her unaltered shoulder. "For conveniences, we just call it 'augmentation'."


	15. Motions of the Scales

_Before I begin this chapter, I'd like to clarify some name pronunciations. I have been asked this before, so this is the perfect time to do it._

**Nyufalng** - NIGH-you-falng

**Ruqojjen** - roo-KOH-zhen ('zh' sounds like the 's' in pleasure)

**Ajalni** - ah-ZHAL-nee

**Yithadri** - said as it appears, with the 'a' being the accented syllable

**Chithagu** - also said as it appears, with 'a' syllable accented

**Baokiydu** - bay-owk-EYE-doo

**Dyal'xern** - DYAL-shern

**Qaurjaeda** - kaur-ZHAY-dah

**Sdalsyra** - stal-SEE-rah

Pung Thoshidai refers to the characters with Pirusymn stones, the last five on the list above. The singular operative word is Pung Thoshidei.

**Chapter 15: Motions of the Scales**

A week had passed since the Dragon's Neck killings, but Setzer still wasn't over his grief. It wasn't the first time he'd personally dealt with someone's mortality. His old racing partner Daryl had been killed in a crash during one of their competition races, and he'd gotten over it quickly. Of course, back then he could distract himself with gambling and flights. With the airship sitting in the harbor's maintenance yard, he was denied those two pastimes.

But he'd been without his wings before. When the Figaro brothers and I stumbled upon him in one of Kohlingen's taverns after the great collapse, he was down on his luck and motivation, as he presumed we all died in the cataclysm.

I concluded that it was his connection to the Dragon's Neck casualties that had him grieving so heavily. He said it after we landed near Olistes; the risks of a game should only apply to those who play, and how spectators shouldn't suffer the consequences risked by participants. That combined with his business relation to the deceased also hit home. As Captain of the Falcon, Setzer felt a sense of responsibility for the safety of his patrons. Now they were dead, killed by a humanoid wolf in a successful attempt at getting our attention. The typically outgoing odds player had become distant and reclusive.

Sabin and Cyan paid Setzer a visit during the week. Cyan felt it wise to have at least one person check on the gambler each day, so at the very least he wouldn't be alone. Locke and I agreed, and made it a point to check on the Setzer every couple days. While the dock's repair yard was closed to the general public, Setzer was allowed there because it was his ship, and the closest thing he had to a real home. Our friendship with Edgar played a part in our own admittance.

Setzer and Locke sat over the roulette wheel, not playing for money, just testing their luck and keeping the gambling utilities from being neglected. A loud knock drowned out the noise of the bouncing roulette ball. "Get the door Celes." Setzer didn't take his eyes off the white ball or spinning black and red wheel. "If they're from our circle, invite them to the bar and offer them drinks."

I left the two men to their game of luck and went down the hallway to the door. Edgar and Charise greeted me once I opened it, him in his royal blue tunic and her in a blue satin dress and wrap-around shawl. As per Setzer's wish, I invited them to the Falcon's pub, took three glasses from the racks over the counter, and filled them with ice cold ale. When the three of us were seated at a round bar table, I addressed the royal couple. "Come to check on Setzer?"

Edgar swallowed his mouthful of alcohol. "In part, but we also want to ask a favor of you. Cyan told us you were here."

I paused in the middle of a sip. "Oh? What's that?"

Edgar took another drink. "Do you remember our friend Yves DuParme?"

"Our contact in the Jidooran city-state of Fondanin. I haven't seen him since your wedding. What's new with him?"

The King swiveled his drink and turned his blue eyes to me. "He mailed a signed postcard to Relm, inviting her to an upcoming festival to celebrate a local army officer's promotion. He wants her help in decorating for the occasion."

I placed my glass upon the table after swallowing. "Good for her. She'll get to use her artistic talent. But what's this have to do with me?"

Charise looked up from her glass. "We've discussed this at length. We want her to go, but also wish for someone to accompany her."

I felt my lips curve downward. Charise was implying something negative in regards to the festival. "You think she'll be in danger?"

The young Queen rubbed her lips. "Not exactly, but neither of us is fully trusting of Jidoor and its intentions, given how they only favor those with large bank accounts." She took another sip. "That, and high-profile promotions like these often bring out the worst in jealous competitors."

"We just feel more comfortable with someone accompanying her," Edgar offered, taking a drink from his own glass. "Even if there's no danger factor, having someone else there will at least give us insight into Jidoor's intentions, what this promotion means, if anything. You can be my eyes and ears in Fondanin."

"A bodyguard and note-taker. That sounds reasonable. But why me?"

"Because you have experience in political matters," Edgar acknowledged. "You're receptive to information that would fly past other peoples' heads. You'd notice relevant details. I don't expect Relm would pay attention to such matters." Edgar didn't need to specify the reasons for my having such knowledge. He just knew I'd be attentive to the subject of political bids for power and the like. He finished his drink of ale. "Think of your presence as better to have and not need than to need but not have, like a weapon," he placed his hand on his wife's and raised his eyebrows flirtatiously "or a condom."

"Oooo, Edgar." Charise leaned toward him and the two shared a kiss. From the motions of their lips, they were playing tongue tag as well.

"Ahem," I objected sarcastically "I know this isn't a public bar, but you've got company here. Must you get raunchy?"

Edgar and Charise concluded their affectionate embrace. "Right," the King noted. "Back to the matter at hand, will you accompany Relm?"

There was little to argue against his request. If nothing else, Relm and I could have some private girl talk. "Sure. Bodyguard, info-collector, and Relm's big sister. I can be all three at once. When is this event?"

The King and Queen stood, handing me their empty wine glasses. "In a couple weeks, after Relm's youth academy lets out for the Winter Solstice." Edgar took Charise's hand again, this time without implying lust. "I'll contact Fondanin and tell Yves to expect you both. I've also reserved a boat you can use for transit, a kind you're familiar with piloting, actually."

Charise ran a finger though her loose bangs. "We appreciate this Celes. We appreciate it greatly."

"Not a problem." I placed the dirty glasses in the sink to go in the next dishwasher load, while the King and Queen made their way down the hall to check on Setzer and Locke. It had been a while since I'd been to Jidoor. I'd last been there when I joined Setzer on one of his gambling parties, which happened to be located just south of Fondanin. Now, I had an excuse to travel to a city-state I'd never fully visited before, but had only passed through.

_change in s & n_

Tzen and Maranda weren't ripping each other apart at the moment, but their situation was in our favor nonetheless.

The two armies were at a stalemate in the continent's centralized uplands, which served as the dividing line between Tzenish and Marandan territory. Nyufalng recon groups reported that both militaries were engaged in some cat-and-mouse type skirmishes within the highlands. It appeared as if House Virnone's forces were trying to push west into Marandan land.

How long this would continue was unknown, but it presented an opportunity, especially since the scouting groups had learned some vital information pertaining elsewhere.

Taking this golden opportunity, Ruqojjen decided some traveling was in order. He requested that Dyal'xern and I accompany him for this excursion. The airship in the aero-dome was tuned-up in full.

The two of us waited in the dome's hangar. I folded my arms and leaned back against the stone wall. "What do you suppose this will involve?"

"Beats me." Dyal'xern stared at the hanger's ceiling high above, a domed roof higher and larger than the one at Yithadri's quarters. "I suppose it will be interesting, but I can't swear to it. I'm not the politician. My name's not High Shenthaxa Dyal'xern…yet."

"Keep dreaming, airhead." I laughed at the Air-smasher's egocentrics.

"Self-esteem is a necessity," he defended. "Too small an ego doesn't cut it."

The door behind us opened. I turned, expecting to greet Ruqojjen, but instead was greeted by Sdalsyra. The Corrodess held a large white bucket in her left hand. "Have either of you seen Baokiydu?" she asked.

"Sorry." I shook my head and glanced up at Dyal'xern. "Any ideas?"

The lanky Pung Thoshidei scratched his chin. "Well, knowing Baokiydu, he's probably being entertained by his fan girls at the brothel right now. In fact, he's getting a double dose today, since Ruqojjen summoned me here for business."

Sdalsyra pressed her lips together. "Call girls. I hope you don't impose anything upon them." Her voice lowered to a hiss. "You know my thoughts on sex slavery, be it for breeding or prostitution."

"Relax Sdalsyra. We never force ourselves upon the ladies," Dyal'xern reasoned. "In fact, when business calls like now, we often have to force them _off_ ourselves."

Sdalsyra seemed convinced, to a degree. "You'd better be right. Your preferences are yours, but never forget what happened to my sister."

"How could I forget? You weren't enslaved at the age of eleven. Prior to becoming a Pung Thoshidei, I was a construction slave, remember? My experience with the oppression that is slavery could be just as personal as yours, if not more so. The girls adore us. All our activities with them are consensual," Dyal'xern explained.

After all this time, Sdalsyra still didn't know that fact. Even I knew it. I'd seen whores chasing Baokiydu and Dyal'xern on several occasions, practically begging them for 'action'. With brutal honesty, both Pung Thoshidai had to reject the girls from time to time, as they had other matters to acknowledge.

The Corrodess was satisfied. "Alright. Just make sure it stays that way. Keep it fun for both you and them."

This reminded me of Sdalsyra's preferences. "It's just like you and Qaurjaeda," I pointed out. "You're both voluntary…" I couldn't find a non-romantic term to use.

"Fuck partners." Dyal'xern finished my sentence. "Except Baokiydu and I prefer variety over boring predictability."

"Predictability? You mean consistency," Sdalsyra countered.

As a teenager, I should have enjoyed the sex talk. But I wasn't feeling any enthusiasm. Sure, it was mildly entertaining, but I just didn't connect with it. Had my augmentation lowered my sex-drive? There was no point in wondering about it, so I changed the subject. "Why are you looking for Baokiydu?"

Sdalsyra tilted the white bucket towards us. Inside was a long-handled brush, a stack of steel wool pads, and two bottles of liquid soap. "I was about to clean the toilets here and wondered if the Sensorian would give me a hand. It's not like we can expect Qaurjaeda to clean the shitters. He doesn't even flush them half the time."

Dyal'xern laughed. "If he flushed them that much, it would be a miracle. I can't remember the last time I didn't see a brownie pile waiting for me in the palace hall's can."

"Whatever. If Baokiydu isn't nearby, I'll manage the can cleaning on my own. Take care." Sdalsyra turned and exited the hanger.

"You know, Ajalni. I have an idea." Dyal'xern smirked, thinking of something else that would serve as an ego booster. "Maybe we could get Qaurjaeda a shitting box like Chithagu's."

"Great plan," I agreed. "And you can clean it."

"Fuck you bitch," Dyal'xern managed to articulate between the snorts and chuckles. I gave him a fake punch on the stomach and giggled in less rowdy manner.

Once the burst of comedy passed, we resumed the waiting game. Ruqojjen probably had several things to deal with and organize prior to our departure, some of them pertaining to it.

"Okay, you know what to do?"

"Yes sir. Leave it to us."

I had been lost in thought as a means to pass the time. Dyal'xern tapped my shoulder and brought me out of my boredom-induced hypnosis. Ruqojjen had arrived, and was relaying some orders to one of his Lieutenants, a man with a long black ponytail and scars across his eyebrow and down his cheek. The High Shenthaxa greeted us with eye contact as he finished addressing the soldier. "And if any refugees from Tzen or Maranda are located, bring them here."

The officer rolled his eyes at Ruqojjen's last directive. "I had a feeling you'd say that." The dirty look on his face was one of complete disapproval.

Dyal'xern and I were silent, confused about the Lieutenant's problem with our generous practice. "What's wrong?" Ruqojjen spoke with concern more than curiosity.

The soldier took a deep breath. "Permission to speak freely, High Shenthaxa?"

"Permission granted. By all means speak your mind."

"Sir, I think you've been _way_ too charitable with these pacifists." There was a high degree of objection in the man's voice.

Eyeing the scar-faced soldier, Ruqojjen stepped closer to him. "You have some issue with that? You have a problem with allowing underclass refugees of war into our domain?"

"Absolutely," the man answered, almost snappishly. His voice was collected but his tone was hardly one of understanding. "It goes against our principals, does it not? We allow these passive cowards to populate our city. We shelter them, but what do they do for us? They complain about their governments' corruption and greed, but do nothing about it. This violates our tenant of only helping those who desire to help themselves. We feed them, heal them, and what do they do in return? Nothing!"

Ruqojjen hadn't motioned for Dyal'xern and I leave, so we stood there in observance, not contributing the discussion, which sounded more like an argument on the Lieutenant's part. The Shenthaxa folded his arms. "Is that how you feel about those people, like those one from Lagione who we saved from slavery?" Though his voice was more civilized than the army officer's, Ruqojjen was not taking the trooper's attitude lightly.

"What else could they be? They're just leaching off your charity. They won't join our garrison, nor do anything else to combat their oppressors. They're getting by for nothing on the backs of you, of me, and all the rest of us." He pointed at Ruqojjen, at himself, and gestured around, referring to all other Nyufalng personnel in the vicinity. Dyal'xern and I were surely included. "So what if they aren't repaying our favors. Do they even know what's going on, what's at stake, and what _their own_ future depends upon?"

Ruqojjen fixed a glare upon the Lieutenant, a sure sign he did not agree with the soldier's complaints. "They do understand. I was in Lagione. I saw the people herded like cattle into the army's battleship. I saw their despondent, hopeless looks when I addressed them after we took the boat, and I saw them react with hope and understanding to my words. Give them credit where credit is due."

The disgruntled officer was quiet, but only for a minute. His protest wasn't over. "Is credit really due there? How can you be sure they understand anything? They strike me as ignorant and ungrateful."

"That's because you haven't interacted with them to the extent I have. They understand that power shouldn't be found in monetary abundance, and that absolute power should never rest in the hands of mortals, even spiritually gifted ones like Yithadri and me. They understand that not fighting will guarantee their mortality sooner or later, and how their own survival depends upon taking action. Even the most self-centered depend on the Divine's equilibrium. They understand our goal of returning power to the Divine, the only entity which can rightfully possess it. In a world that's been torn apart more than once by insatiable greed, these peasants look up to us, and trust us."

Now seemed as a good a time as any to participate. I stepped forward. "We met a girl from Lagione whose father and brother were killed while resisting the army. It didn't add up to very much, but at least they tried. While she tried defending herself, she lost her arm. Her spirit was broken, but when we listened to her story, she found resolve. Even children know what's going on, more so than you from the looks of things." The military man flinched, disarmed and surprised. "We even replaced her arm when she expressed a desire to fight."

The Lieutenant glanced around, at Ruqojjen, at Dyal'xern, at me, at the hanger's walls off in the distance. Any more arguing along the same line would make him look stupid. "Okay, so they're smart. But I must ask, why do you give them augments and the like when they've done nothing for us at this point?" At least now he was simply asking questions. His belligerence was gone.

As the officer softened his tone, Ruqojjen did the same. "If we forced them to fight before giving them food and medicine, we'd be just like the Duke of Maranda, among others. Forcing these obligations upon people does nothing. That's how the Council works, the same Council you raised arms against when you joined this movement, remember? If we give these people what the need, they'll give back to us in return. They're understanding, enthusiastic, and yes, grateful." He waited for the Lieutenant to respond, and continued when he didn't. "They believe is us, Lieutenant, and in _you._" He pointed his index finger at the silent soldier. "Don't let them down. When they are strong and healthy, train them. It's what they desire."

The soldier clasped his chin and looked downwards. "I just think we've been moving too slow with them. We've not been stern enough, but that's only my opinion." While he wasn't fully convinced, he was no longer quarrelsome. "Thank you for hearing me out, if nothing else." He bowed and left our company.

"What the fuck's his problem?" Dyal'xern asked, staring at the soldier until he rounded a stack of crates and disappeared.

Ruqojjen sighed. "Even we Nyufalng can't always see eye-to-eye. Schisms happen, there's no avoiding them. It's how we deal with them that matters. Infighting is a detriment. We can all agree on that."

"Well said," I put in. "Putting it mildly, it's bad for business. And speaking of business, shouldn't we check on the airship?"

"Yeah. It's this way." Ruqojjen glanced down a long corridor.

The said airship was a standard model, more suited for freight than passengers. It lacked an open-air deck and contained merely two levels, a main level and an engine level below it. Still, its lack of form didn't hinder its function. More likely, its basic construction was beneficial. The absence of flashy, stylish luxuries allowed the vessel to travel more conveniently at higher speeds. Also, it could blend in. We'd stripped it of anything reminiscent of its former owners from the defunct House of Albrook. It looked generic, save a very subtle detail; some random letters from the Jrysthovuhn alphabet. To the average person, they'd appear as nothing but dings and dents in the ship's hull. They secretly identified the bland-looking vessel as ours.

A young man approached us, clad in street garb but still placing his hand to his forehead in an army-style salute. "High Shenthaxa, the fuel tanks are at max, the windows are clean, the engines are running smoothly, and the crew has boarded. All that's left is for you and your company to enter and order a take-off."

"Thank you. Carry on." After Ruqojjen's acknowledgement, the young man nodded and split for somewhere else on the landing bay. A ramp leading to the ship's entry hatch invited us to ascend.

"High Shenthaxa. Wait!"

Another man approached us, wearing civilian garb underneath some armored boots and vest. Ruqojjen gave the trooper a look of annoyance, but regarded him all the same. The guy's voice suggested he had something important to say.

And he wasted no time getting to the point. "Sir, it's about Uletarsji. You won't be happy."

_change in s & n_

Relm turned a page in the catalog. "And this is another style popular among young women, but even some older ones may wear them. They're so hip and stylish. They're called 'bell jeans' because they're slim in the hips, ass, and thighs but visibly get wider below the knee, flaring out like a bell shape." Having presumed this info useless, I looked away. Big mistake! Something swatted my knee. Relm gave me an irritated look as she pressed the rolled-up catalog against her other hand. "Pay attention Leonard."

"Uhh, yeah, bell jeans, jeans for women, got it."

A messenger from the castle asked me to come here when I finished my work shift. He didn't say why, but I was certain it had nothing to do with Relm giving me a crash course in women's clothing.

With half-hearted attention, I let Relm torture me some more, this time showing me the pages of lingerie and women's sleepwear. After one more unconcealed yawn, Relm paused to question my wandering attention span.

"Why must you educate me on ladies' fashion? I'm a man." If Relm realized how pointless this was, maybe she'd stop.

But she planned ahead, and had much anticipated the question, much more than I did the answer. "You never know when this info will come in handy. It could be necessary at some point."

I almost laughed. She was entertaining, but I couldn't make any sense of this lecture. "I don't attend masquerade parties. Why should I know this?"

"Because," she closed the catalog and leaned an inch closer to me "suppose Terra decides to do some shopping. She may want to bring a second opinion along, a viewpoint she trusts."

Where was this leading? "She has plenty of trustworthy opinions."

"She might want a _new_ opinion."

_Oh shit. Here it comes!_ I thought. The voice within my gray matter was screaming 'danger' and 'red alert'. Unable to speak, my silence invited Relm to deliver the killing blow. "She may ask you to join her on a shopping spree."

My stomach contracted, my lungs stiffened, and my heart skipped a dozen beats. I'd learned something else on this day; the bottomless cruelty of Relm's imagination.

This was still asinine, and maybe that could be my way out. "Um, why the hell would she do that?"

The teenage girl blinked. I'd caught her off guard. Her sky blue eyes darted about, focusing on different angles of the dojo room as she tried thinking of an answer. I should have known she'd find one. "You never know. But if she wants to share your company, that would be a reason." Her eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't turn her down, would you?"

Checkmate! Now I was caught between a rock and a very hard place. Of course I enjoyed Terra's company. I'd be full of shit if I claimed I wasn't interested in her. Being around her was enough to make me feel…something new.

But the prospect of joining the green-haired female in a women-only place was very unappealing. Suppose I was seen amidst shelves of pink, flowery nightgowns, bras, and panties? 'Humiliated' would be the granddaddy of all understatements. I was already Narshe's local scapegoat and black sheep, for things that were beyond my control. Adding the town laughing stock to my personal hall of shame, especially if I could avoid it…

"Well?" The tapping of Relm's foot and the pseudo-authority in her voice demanded an answer on my part.

"She's never asked." Speaking the truth let out much of the tension. Now Relm was quiet, letting the truth sink in. Maybe now she'd find a more relevant subject.

"If you say so, but you just never know." She leaned away and softened her voice. "If she asks, you'd better not be a dick and say no. You do like her, do you?"

I bit my lip and pondered the simple, honest answer. "Sure I do, I think you know that."

The young girl stood up from the dojo bench, stuffed the catalog into her bag, and pointed at me with both hands. "I knew it! You like Terra, you like Terra," she sang in a pathetically off-key voice, one so tuneless it made a sick dairy cow sound like an opera star in comparison. She continued her jingle in a teasing voice as she danced, shaking her hips from side to side and alternately pointing each index finger at me.

I couldn't hold myself back. She was just too laughable for me to stay composed. Once I controlled the mindless laughter, I inquired, "Are you on a sugar high? What have you been doing lately?"

"Me?" She ceased doing the phony dance and sat down again. "I'm just excited. See, I got invited to a political festival in Fondanin, a Jidooran city-state. We're friends with an upstanding noble there, and he wants me to help decorate for the events. Jidoor's an art center, and I'm an artist." Relm lifted her hands and beckoned towards herself, as if urging some applause from a make-believe audience.

Okay, not fully make-believe. I was present and accounted for. "Of course you'd be invited to set up. With talent like yours, it'd be a mistake to exclude you. You painted my portrait." Talking about Relm seemed perfect to keep her from talking about me going into a women's store.

"I got Gau to watch Interceptor. Celes and I will be leaving in a couple days." Speaking of Gau, he appeared at the foot of the corner stairwell. Relm grabbed her knapsack and walked over to join him. "I must be going. I gotta get my stuff together and all that," she spoke excitedly, her voice going up an octave as her words came out faster than usual. "See you soon Leonard. Thanks for letting me educate you."

"Right," I mumbled as the teen couple walked out the dojo's twin doors.

"What a livewire," came a deeper voice, that of the dojo's owner. Maybe now I'd learn why my presence was requested here. "Ah, Leonard. You came. Word travels fast here in Figaro, eh?"

"Very," I put in as the blitz master sat down on the bench next to me and pulled over one of the small tables. "You wanted me here for something?"

"Damn straight. I have an offer for you." Sabin folded his hands on the table's surface. "Having seen your potential in the mining caverns during that big turtle fight, I want to know what else you can do. To the point, I'm curious about your fighting proficiency level."

I was slack-jawed for a moment. "Huh? I don't think it's much, really. I've never been in the military, despite having worked in a mining zone under military control. Sure, I learned things from watching and listening to the troops, but I could never compare to you, your brother, or the rest of your group."

Sabin's palm landed on my shoulder, though much more gently than list time. "Good ol' modesty shows its face. But even if we outclass you, that doesn't mean you can't learn a few tricks to boost your battle prowess. With these super monsters on the loose, you never know when another giant moth or green reptile-humanoid will cross your path. You've got a head start with weapons, so I'd like to give you a mega boost in the combat department."

I'd been slouching, so I sat up straight. "What are you talking about?"

The martial artist leaned closer and raised his brows. "I want to teach you the blitz art."

"You want to teach me some ass-kicking techniques to help fight this beast menace." It was more of a statement than a question.

"Bingo, my friend." Sabin clapped his hands for effect. "In this time of uncertainty, you need a few extra tricks at your disposal." His lips curved upwards. "Plus, this'll present you with another opportunity."

He waited for me to specify what that was. I had no idea. "And that would be?"

His grin drooped. "It'll give you more opportunities to be around Terra. What the hell else would I refer to like that?"

"Anything and everything," I said. "What's that have to do with me? I know you've been teaching her, but why's that worth mentioning?"

Sabin blinked twice. "Do I really need to answer that for you?"

Did he? Was Sabin on the same tangent as Relm? They were both talking about me and the green-haired woman. There was something behind his words, something Relm had made allusions to. "She wants to see me more often, right?"

"I believe so, although she's not been fourth-coming. She talks about you a lot. She might think about you even more. I know you think about her. I saw it in your eyes when the towing ship was hauling in the Falcon."

"You noticed?" I questioned, a little too sheepishly. Having grown used to concealing my emotions after years of abuse form Narshean locals, both against my father and favoring him, knowing I'd expressed emotions that were obvious to others was rather shocking. But these people were trustworthy. I had no reason to act cold and distant around them. "Okay, I didn't exactly try to hide my feelings."

"I think you like her," Sabin echoed Relm's declaration, in a manner that could be taken seriously.

If I could admit such to a high-strung teenage girl like Relm, I could do the same with a more disciplined figure like Sabin. "Okay, I do. It's obvious."

"And it could be mutual."

Was Sabin trying to sound prophetic again? "If you say so. I'm not a famous hero, but I won't doubt your judge of character. You know her better than I do." Instead of questioning such implications like before, I played along with them. Maybe a part of me hoped those implications were true.

Sabin stood up and motioned for me to follow him out of the dojo. He was leaving for the day and would lock up the training hall. "I must tell you, this blitz training isn't exactly free. I can't even give you a specialized Returners discount like I do for Terra. But I know you make substantial GP for cleaning up after those dairy cows, and I don't charge excessively." He shut the doors, secured their locks, and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. "These are the fees and rates I charge. The day after tomorrow, come by around lunch and I can get you started. See you than."

I took the slip and waved to him as he stared up the mountain. I couldn't decide which aspect would be more fulfilling; learning some of the blitz arts or spending more time around Terra. I'd be hard-pressed in finding a better deal than doing both at once.

That and spending time with Terra in the training dojo sure beat the idea of joining her in a girly store.

_change in s & n_

"You did WHAT!"

If voice tones could kill, Ruqojjen's would've annihilated Uletarsji ten times over, not just obliterating the dumb bastard's physical manifestation, but his metaphysical being as well.

The Nyufalng trooper needed only to say this much; Uletarsji had failed at something, but the failure wasn't the issue so much as his making the attempt in the first place. Furious, Ruqojjen excused himself from our company to confront Uletarsji face-to-face. However, being down a hall and around a corner didn't stop the High Shenthaxa's menacing voice from carrying.

"What you endorsed, what I had in mind," Uletarsji scoffed defensively. He was digging himself an early grave, giving Ruqojjen the perfect excuse to play undertaker. Dyal'xern's face mirrored my thoughts; Uletarsji was less than a half-inch away from a thrashing.

"In a very clumsy and incompetent manner, with _unauthorized_ additions. I never endorsed THAT." I was surprised Ruqojjen hadn't beaten Uletarsji to a mushy pulp by now. If the story was true, and every indication said it was, The High Shenthaxa wouldn't waste one second in ripping the fuck-up's body apart.

"But I tried. Look at my face, look at-"

"Fuck your face. It heals when you feed." There was a pause. "But I guess you'd forget that little detail." Try or no try, an error this massive was inexcusable. Even if unintentional, it displayed a lack of common sense, a true violation of principals.

From our listening spot between a wall and some boxes, I looked up at Dyal'xern. "What do you think?"

The Air-smasher blinked as Ruqojjen continued ripping Uletarsji a second ass crack. "Compared to this, I think that grumpy Lieutenant from earlier isn't such a liability after all."

"Do you realize what you could have done?" Ruqojjen's voice traveled around the corner again. "It's lucky for us that they averted what _you_ almost caused. You could've killed them."

As expected, given his recent idiocy, Uletarsji chuckled. "What's wrong with that? Isn't that one of your intentions?" Just as expected were the chocking and gagging noises he made next.

"Yes, but timing is critical. Because," Ruqojjen's voice was quieter now, but also more deadly "there's a thing called _martyrdom_. If someone dies with it, that is irreparable. Strength isn't the only key to winning. It also requires strategy and something you lack; brains. Think about this; Even if we currently had the strength to challenge the Council, many still respect them. Killing a foe at the wrong time can backfire, actually increasing their influence."

Silence. Even the gagging had stopped. Maybe Ruqojjen had strangled Uletarsji to death. I glanced back at Dyal'xern, whose gaze remained fixed on the hallway.

Finally, the Nyufalng figurehead spoke up. "Throw this fucking klutz in solitary. We can't have ignorance roaming about, especially after this." So Uletarsji was still alive. From the way he was chewed out, I thought Ruqojjen had every intention of executing him. Maybe he planned on doing it later on. For now, there were other plans.

As Uletarsji was hauled off with much complaint, the two of us went back to the airship dock. Ruqojjen had excused himself for a reason, most likely because he didn't want to be overheard. He joined us a few minutes later, his face showing no hints of the rage he'd directed at Uletarsji.

"Is there a problem?" Dyal'xern asked, playing ignorant and clueless.

"It's been dealt with. I'll decide that moron's use later, assuming he'll have one." He walked past us to the airship's ramp. "Let's depart now."

The vessel's simple exterior wasn't much different than its interior. Most of the upper level was one large chamber, though it had some smaller rooms toward the back, bathrooms and kitchens. Even cargo ships had in-flight meals served on-board. A small military flight crew welcomed us.

The first thought in my mind was the smaller-than-average staff on board. "Ruqojjen, I know we're lacking creations right now, but if we're going to strike, shouldn't we bring more personnel?"

Workers outside pulled the access ramp away as on-board troops closed and latched the entry door. "We're not attacking anything major. This will be an appeal, a negotiation." He sat down on a cushioned bench, one of the few in the ship's upper level. Dyal'xern joined him.

As usual, Ruqojjen's plan was more intricate than I expected. "What exactly are you planning?" I asked, taking a seat on a box beside them.

"This is a place I've always wanted to check out in person. Now's the perfect time to go there and observe the locals' lifestyle and viewpoints." Ruqojjen leaned back on the cushioned bench.

"They fight and kill each other," Dyal'xern mumbled next to him. "What makes you think they'll even consider listening to you?"

Muffled noises came from outside our vessel. From the small window next to me, I noticed a pair of huge doors in the side of the dome sliding open. The engines began to hum, filling the upper level with an ambient rumble. My view of the aero-dome's landing bay shifted as the vessel wheeled to angel itself for the takeoff. "Their resentments are channeled on one another, when neither party is responsible for the root cause of their shared situation. If they learn to focus their disgust on those who deserve it, they can tilt the situation in their favor."

There was another point I hoped Ruqojjen had already considered. I was certain it had crossed his mind, but what was his plan for dealing with it? "Can we trust them? They're a whole different breed than the refugees of the former Empire?"

A bell outside was ringing loudly. Even inside the sealed airship, its rhythmic wail was clear. "Hold on to your seats, we are taking off in five, four, three, two…," came the pilot's voice from the loudspeaker.

I guess the crate was as good as any regular seat. It was strapped to the chamber's wall, firmly secured in place. The airship lurched forward, its motors getting louder as it gained speed. The front end tilted upwards as the ship exited the dome. I could see the ground below getting further and further away. My ears popped as our altitude increased. I always enjoyed flight, as it offered views from a rarely-seen perspective, but takeoffs and landings still fucked with my head.

"We'll just have too see," Ruqojjen declared as our ship left Albrook behind.

_change in s & n_

Scimitar in hand, I opened the doors to Sabin's dojo, and was greeted by…

…no one?

Sabin usually waited for me when I arrived for training lessons. Gau was caring for Interceptor and Relm had left with Celes earlier in the day, so their absences were expected. Sabin's absence was something else.

"Since you have no clearance to carry weapons on the train, my brother is letting you borrow these from the armory. Pick one that suits your style."

The words traveled down from the enclosed stairway. That was Sabin's voice, but who was he talking to?

The next moment, he came down. "Terra, glad you made it. I've decided on some different training exercises for this lesson." He pointed at my sheathed sword. "Good. You brought it. You'll be doing some armed sparring with-" he looked at the stairs behind him. "Pick a piece. She's here," he called up to whoever was arms-browsing.

Down came…the last person I expected to see here. Leonard was dressed in his usual colorless shirt, an armored vest, and army fatigue-style pants. He also carried a medium-sized, one-bladed combat axe and some round, metallic disk.

He greeted me with a smile, one that I returned, but I also had questions. "Are you my fencing partner?"

He opened his mouth, but Sabin beat him to the answer. "Yes, and another blitz trainee."

That was a pleasant surprise, although his role as a sparring partner was a tad confusing. Was he knowledgeable in the blitz at all? If not, he'd make a very unenthused opponent. While my sword skills weren't on par with Edgar, Celes, Or Cyan's, I was no rookie. I had no desire to put Leonard in the hospital. He'd been there once already as of recent.

Not that I had objections to seeing the young man, but why had Sabin brought Leonard here? "Are you taking more students?" I asked.

"That's partly it. I'm also checking out your buddy's fighting skills. And with these new monsters, some new battle tricks are a real asset."

Leonard slipped the disk over his face. It was an armor-plate dueling mask. He'd need it. As Sabin asked me to bring the Scimitar, he also told me to wear the Minerva. I took a second mask, though I first thought of giving it to Leonard for extra protection. I didn't want to strike him accidentally. I figured my combat level was enough to overwhelm his inexperience, but not enough to restrain my thrusts and parries at the last millisecond.

Equally guarded but unequally seasoned, I squared off with my not-so familiar partner. Or was he familiar? I'd seen him in action down in the mine battle, but not close up in a melee. There was yet another mystery to Leonard Gurosawn, but I was about to unravel it.

"I'll get my ass kicked," Leonard announced from behind his headgear. He was apprehensive as well, though for a slightly different reason. He felt I was an expert who'd greatly outclass him.

"If shit goes wrong, I'll break out the healing Mantra. Until then, lighten up. Leonard, you'll best enhance your skills by training with those who outrank you." Sabin's endorsement didn't put me at ease. We faced each other in a ready position as the real combat expert took a seat to watch. "Ready, set, begin."

Unsure of my blade control, I took a half-assed horizontal strike at the masked Narshean. Leonard's parry, however, was all business. A clang filled the dojo room as his axe deflected my Scimitar. That was encouraging. I needn't be that soft. He wasn't a completely fresh beginner. Spending all that time around Shedairah's military staff had taught him a thing or two.

We both back-stepped, gauging each others next move. I stepped forward to thrust while he took an evasive stance to block. He side-stepped to his right and raised his axe for an overhead blow. I brought my sword up, filling the room with yet another shrill clang. He recoiled as my motion followed through. On instinct, I did a reverse strike as he brought his weapon up for another try.

A loud metallic banging marked the contact of our weapons, though not one so loud as to distract me from seeing the axe fly from Leonard's grip. It landed a few yards away on the training mat. Was I that good, or was Leonard that much of a rookie?

"Alright. Leonard, you're decent but not fantastic. We're all beginners at some point," Sabin offered. "No offence."

"None taken," Leonard replied.

"Let's maybe try some _unarmed_ techniques, basic grabs and blocks and such." Sabin's plans were a relief, for me at least. Maybe Leonard felt that way too, having been disarmed.

We'd taken off ours masks, though our body armor remained in place. Bare hand training was less tense. It was also providing me with insight into Leonard's knowledge of hand-to-hand combat, and helped serve as reminders for me as well. I was able to retain control of my unarmed strikes. Punches, elbows, and knee hits all were stopped short of making contact. His were also quite restrained. His movements were fluid, his foot work at least mildly comparable to my own, and his reflexes appeared decent.

Than came the little mishap. I ducked Leonard's back fist and tried a low counter, but I was few inches too high. My foot stopped and Leonard swore. I knew what happened, even before seeing my red boot buried in Leonard's groin.

The Narshean collapsed and rolled on the carpet, hands grasping his battered boy toy.

"Oh fuck. Sorry Leonard." He said nothing, continuing to flop around and cursing a blue streak.

Bashfully, I knelt down and held out my hand. He returned the gesture and I helped him upright. Though he was squinting, Leonard smiled and allowed me to walk him over to the bench along the wall.

It was the first time I'd made any physical contact with him, outside of momentary shoulder pats. It felt weird, but I had no desire to withdraw from the touch. As I sat him down, I thought I could feel Leonard's hand squeeze mine.

"Whoa! I think we'll call quits on sparring for the day." Sabin joined us after fetching a glass of water. Leonard took it and guzzled down a large sip between ragged gasps. "Maybe having you two spar together wasn't such a good idea. I thought you'd do well as opponents, since your skill levels are closer to each other than to mine. But expert-level restraint is needed."

Leonard said nothing, content to swallow another mouthful. At least he wasn't breathing heavily now.

"I'll go get my tiger fangs." Sabin walked over to the stairway, climbing to the armory level. When he came back, the large claws were fitted over his hand. "Terra, you and I should spar for now. Leonard needs a break."

"No kidding," he rasped in a hoarse whisper. That was some kick. I guess my unarmed fighting abilities were truly something. That blow wasn't even deliberate.

"Rest up my Narshean friend. I'll be your next opponent…when you can feel your crotch again." Sabin regarded Leonard.

With his glass in his mouth, Leonard said nothing. He just gave Sabin a thumbs-up.

Leaving the man to relax, Sabin handed me back the Scimitar and the two of us did some blocking and thrusting drills. I had little time to think about Leonard. Had he squeezed my hand at all? Did it mean anything, something…affectionate?

_change in s & n_

"Will you do the Maria act when we get to Yves's place?" Relm asked tauntingly. "He may ask it of you."

I scoffed. "Maria my ass. Don't make me regret telling you that story. That act served a purpose, nothing more."

Realizing that her joke had finally worn thin, Relm changed the subject. "Look! I see it! That's Yves's manor!" Relm pointed out the train window toward the hillside.

The boat ride to Fondanin took four hours. Relm snoozed much of the time while I piloted the whole way. After pulling into the city-state's port, we spent another two and a half hours getting around. We couldn't find any chocobo carriages to reach the nearest train depot, so the only option left was going there on foot.

Getting to the train stop didn't make things any easier. Fondanin's rail transit was booked. Trains ran more frequently, but were also jam-packed. It took three trains before we could find one to squeeze into.

But now, our stop was approaching. I'd spent a good portion of the day chatting and joking with Relm on our 'girls' day out'. It was rare that we could enjoy each others company exclusively. She hadn't changed completely from when we first met. I remembered her spunk and enthusiasm when I first met her in Thamasa. She had the desire to join our resistance group after Kefka ambushed her town. Naturally, most of the Returners glared at her and rejected her wish. I however, could see her natural magic talents. I was trained in magic from an early age, and could sense great abilities in the young woman. My trust in her is what returned the feeling.

Many of the passengers from earlier had departed for the downtown district, allowing the two of us the luxury of seats until we reached our stop. As the train pulled into the station and opened its doors, we left the passenger car.

Yves DuParme's manor was located in a hilly Fondanite suburb, on a street with many similar dwellings. Like most houses here, the DuParme estate was surrounded by a brick wall topped with wrought iron fencing, but we found it easily thanks to a unique feature. The large gold and silver D's in the front gates caught the attention of passers-by long before they noticed the street address numbers, in a smaller and simpler font, on the wall to the gates' left . One of Yves's private security guards was posted in a shack just beyond the gates. Relm showed him the postcard Yves had sent her. "Ah, Ms. Chere and Ms. Arrowny. Come in. Lord DuParme is expecting you." He pulled a large key out and clicked open the gate lock. The decorated metal doors swung inwards, and the cement path leading through the gardens beckoned us to enter.

Relm calmly strode along the path to the manor's front door. She took her time because of the scenery, I was sure of that. I couldn't stop admiring Yves's front garden. Many roses and sunflowers were planted here, as were several other flowers that I couldn't name. There was also a birdbath with a flock of sparrows swimming atop, and a white statue of a horse sat in the middle of an elaborate fountain. The lawn had two trees, one on each side of the walkway. The north side had a great oak, the trunk of which had vines crawling up, each spiraling stem dotted with small white blossoms. The south side had a willow, its long, slender leaves hanging down. If this view wasn't impressive on its own, behind us to the east was a generous view of greater Fondanin.

Yves's manor had three floors. Many of the upper windows were oriels, half-cylinders that curved outwards from the exterior wall. Two front steps led to a wooden door in the alcove porch. A light could be seen through the door's small amber, pebble glass window. To the right of the front door was a cubbyhole. A gold chain hung down inside. I looked at Relm. "Do you want to do the honors, or-" She beat me to it, reaching out to pull the chain. From within the place, a melodious bell was heard. As it stopped, the rattling of the locks replaced it. The door swung open.

A few years older than Cyan, Lord Yves DuParme lived in this manor with his staff. He and his wife divorced some years ago, and their children and grandchildren lived elsewhere in Jidoor's namesake capital. He had more than enough guest rooms for Relm and me.

The bearded nobleman greeted us. "Relm Arrowny, Celes Chere. I've not seen you since King Edgar's wedding." He wrapped an arm around each of us. "Come in and rest up. I imagine getting here has tired you out, and that getting around was no easier, what with all the crowds."

He led us inside through the first floor hall of his manor. Just like the exterior, his residence was equally spectacular on the inside. The white, plaster walls had dark wooden panels on their lower sections. A lighter wood served as the first level's floor. Pictures hung from the walls, and pottery urns of many shapes and sizes rested below and between them. A three-armed, crystal-studded chandelier illuminated the entrance hall. Upstairs, the floor was covered with a burgundy carpet. Part of the second level overlooked the entry hall. Other parts led back into enclosed corridors. Sure, it was hardly on par with Figaro Castle, but the condo I shared with Locke up in Quildern was a mere tool shed in comparison.

Yves took us to a second floor hallway. "You can room together, or separately. I have two rooms to spare."

We chose to each have a room to ourselves. I gave Relm the first choice, having no objections to getting the leftover. My room had a single window, a large bay window that offered its own cushioned seat and overlooked the manor's backyard.

Relm and I traveled light. We both carried clothes and some personal effects in simple bags we'd slung over our shoulders. I also carried something else. Though it looked like a folded umbrella, it was in fact my Strato. Edgar said my presence here would be like a weapon (among something else), and since his wife did allude to this event drawing out the negativities of rivals, I decided to bring my katana, 'just in case'. I also carried a lightweight armor vest in my handbag. I had no desire to use the sword or the armor, but Edgar, Charise and I agreed that being needlessly prepared was favorable to the alterative, being desperately unprepared. I said nothing of the blade and vest to Relm. No need to instill negative thoughts in the girl's head.

Having tossed my bag and 'umbrella' at the foot the of the window seat, I hung my jacket behind the door and flopped down on the bed. I wanted to nap after six and a half hours of travel and waiting.

Rest was achieved. I awoke to a knocking on my door. Relm, still plenty energetic, told me that Yves was preparing dinner. I was quite hungry. My stomach growled as I sat up, though Relm laughed, assuming it was a different sort of bodily noise. Her tomboy sense of humor was infectious. I couldn't help but smile as we headed downstairs to the dining room.

Yves knew how to cook, or at least what to cook. His kitchen staff did the work, even though he selected the meal. The spacious dining room had a covered table in the middle. Sparkling cider was the beverage, ribs were the main course, and a mixed bean soup was the side.

The nobleman sat down with us, and we began our meals. Yves's butler tossed another log into the fireplace. The manor was heated electrically, but the fire still helped. It also added to the atmosphere. The crackling and smell of the burning wood completed the elegance of the home. A large wall portrait of Yves and Owzer hung over the fireplace. Below it on the mantle was some kind of mounted plaque. It was indicative of Yves's role in Jidoor's government. He served as a local representative here in Fondanin, hence his role in setting up this military officer's promotion, and his request for Relm to aide in that.

"Tell us about this upcoming festival," I asked between drinks of cider. I was also here to learn about the current political status, not just to look after Relm.

Yves wiped his mouth after a spoonful of soup. "Major General Jacques Nalvier is ascending to the rank of full General. He will be serving the Prime Minister directly."

"What do you need for the decorating?" Relm asked.

Yves's looked down at her. "There are some floats required for the opening parade. The first order of business is to dress them up. That's where you start coming in." Relm silently applauded herself. "You've had a long day, so tomorrow I will introduce you to the plans." A maid motioned for Yves's to join her in the doorway to the next room. "If you will excuse me for just a moment. I need to check on the kitchen stock." He stood and left us to one another.

Relm was excited, and I was excited for her. As Relm would learn about the festival, I would look into Jidoor's ambitions. It would be a learning experience for both of us.

_change in s & n_

We parked the airship in the mountains to avoid attention, and we had nowhere else to land. This place lacked the essentials found in most other centers of inhabitance.

"What a fucking dump." Dyal'xern commented on the immediate scenery.

I was hard-pressed to disagree. "I'll say. It's worse than Lagione."

Indeed, this place was dirty, disorganized, and plain shitty. The few plants I could see were all dead, and no attempt had been made to clean them up. Tall, brown weeds, dried up and deceased, stuck out from nearly every crack in the sidewalk. Most windows were boarded up in the buildings we passed. Trashcans were overflowing to the point where the can itself was often buried in the garbage pile. Wooden fences were so decayed from termites that they crumbled under the slightest pressure. The whole place had this monotone, industrial feel to it, but there were no factories to be found in this shit hole. The only manufacturing that went on here was that of sniffing drugs in private homes. On the topic of sniffing, the air in this place reeked of grime and burnt chemicals. "This place sucks," I put it elegantly. "I guess the Divine's not fully recovered here. The locals surely aren't helping."

Ruqojjen straightened his dark sunglasses. "Actually, this place was a slum even before the great collapse. It's never been healthy."

"The locals don't care to keep their dwelling tidy." Dyal'xern shook his head. "And you think these people will have a use? They don't have wealth or power, but I'm sure they crave both."

I put my hands on my hips and looked at the High Shenthaxa. "Yeah. And there could some real shit in these parts too, rapists and the like."

"If that's the case, we'll deal with them as such. They'll have a use, in some form or another." Ruqojjen had planned this out to the last detail. "I'll reveal very little, telling them only what they have to know. I'll be the spokesperson, so Dyal'xern, keep your mask on." The Pung Thoshidei nodded. He wore a mask to cover his Pirusymn stone, should it give anything away or distract the locals. Ruqojjen gave me a final briefing. "Ajalni, excuse the expression, but watch your tongue.

"Point taken," I said with a giggle. I'd keep my specialty hidden in my mouth.

"Good. You know the plan." He and Dyal'xern took positions in the shadow of a condemned building. "Attract the locals. It's on you."

My job was the easy part. I took position under a street light, the only functional one on this wide boulevard. Clad in simple shoes, a dark faded pair of bell jeans, a black bra, and a belt with rhinestones, any local would spot me instantly, and hopefully call out to their pals. I loosened my hair from my hair band and let the act begin.

With a simple pattern, I shifted my weight back and fourth from one leg to the other, pivoting on my feet to boost the motion. I threw in more variations to the ass shakes, placing my feet together and moving them far apart, bending my legs and straitening them. I rotated so that my back and ass faced the street, running my hands down my neck, bra straps, breasts, stomach, hips, and the back pockets of my jeans. Maybe I could've been a real dancer at some point, but the role of a Nyufalng revolutionary was much more fulfilling.

Ass-wiggling dancer or beast-tongued revolutionary, I finally got noticed. "Hey little girrrrlllll." The man's voice was lewd, and judging from the slurred speech, he was very drunk.

I spun to face him. He wore baggy pants and large jacket. His head was shaved and a crooked scar was etched across his nose. While I tossed locks of my hair over my shoulders, the local waved behind him, each motion threatening to topple him over. "Yo, Buck! Lookie what I find. A lonely lil' girly in need of a home." The shit-faced drunkard hiccupped. "We got a place for you, missy. C'mon back wit' us."

As the booze hound staggered, the person he'd summoned appeared from an alleyway. Buck was taller, wore similar sized pants, and a plaid shirt. The sleeves were rolled up, and I could see wavy patterns tattooed on Buck's arms. His hair was spiky and there were four piercings in his lips. He raised his hand and several more guys in baggy pants joined him and his intoxicated peer. A few women in red stood among the newcomers.

"Fuck you all! The girl's ours. This is OUR territory."

Buck and his company turned to the latest arrivals. They were dressed in dark pants and sleeveless leather jackets, all of which were adorned in metallic chains and studs. The man in the lead sported a head shaved on the sides, with the hair on top pulled into a ponytail. Some girls in similar clothing with rings in their noses and eyebrows were part of this second group.

"Jasper, you came." Buck addressed the leader of this new group. "It's really pointless thought. See, we run the prostitution around here. Stick to your drug trade. It's the only thing you're good at."

Jasper scowled. "You're telling me what to do, ON MY TURF?" He roared, pulling some jackknives from his vest. "Once we kick your fuckin' ass, we'll take your hooker house for ourselves." Behind Jasper, a man drew a chained sickle. Another guy produced a metallic club.

"Blow me, you fucking junkies," Buck shot back, sliding some brass knuckles over his fist. The man behind him drew a hatchet.

As the baggies and leather n' chains groups cursed at and advanced on each other, a new voice called out, catching both parties off guard. "The young lady might not prefer either of you."

It was Ruqojjen. Now that I'd done my part, he would do his. I left the 'stage light' and retreated into a shadowy alcove in the abandoned structure, letting him and Dyal'xern to take center stage for the next 'act'. I watched from the unlit alcove, wondering how this would play out.

The appearance of the two men caused the locals to momentarily forget their conflict. Both parties glared in annoyance at the Air-smasher and the Shenthaxa. Finally, Buck stepped forward and broke the stunned silence. "And just who the hell are you?"

Dyal'xern stood silent as Ruqojjen lived up to his 'spokesman' role. "We've come to meet with the head honcho around here. Who might that be?"

"Me!" Jasper yelled out, his manpower cheering him on. "I run the show here."

"And your show sucks ass," Buck sneered. His crew echoed the insult, igniting counter barbs from the leather n' chains bunch. The two groups were on the verge of mutilating each other again.

"So you share the leadership here?" Ruqojjen asked with intentions on quelling the impending brawl. Not that he and Dyal'xern would be in any danger, but his plan didn't involve a war between these hoodlums.

"We don't share anything with these dick sniffers." A guy in Jasper's group pointed hatefully at Buck and co.

"So you fight over everything?" Ruqojjen traced a finger around a sunglass lens.

The questioning was starting to pay off, at least for the moment. Buck stepped forward even more. "Who the fuck are you anyway, some kinda ambassador?"

The High Shenthaxa folded his arms. "I'm a curious individual, that's all. I want to know why you fight with each other. Do you enjoy it?"

It was like that question had never been asked of anyone from either group. The two gangs began talking amongst themselves until Jasper stepped up. "We have to. We won't let these baggy pants bitches eat us out of resources."

"What! You're the ones taking our shit. We just gotta keep our stockpile intact. You druggies keep stealing to feed your addictions." Buck pointed his knuckles at the man in the studded leather vest.

An ensemble of 'fuck you' and 'got to hell' ensued. What was to be gained by this? I felt it was a huge waste of time to sit here and watch these two gangs curse at each other. Yet Ruqojjen pursued his idea.

"Gentlemen." Be it for diplomacy or sarcasm, the High Shenthaxa's choice of word got attention. Both groups ignored each other and focused their attention on him. "Must this feud perpetuate?"

"They started it." Buck and Jasper pointed to each other and spat almost in unison. "It's their fault."

Ruqojjen played off their mutual animosity. "Neither of you started it, but you're both at fault."

That diffused the finger-pointing competition. The baggies and the leather studs were both at a loss for words. Such a concept had never occurred to either faction. Both gangs stood there in mute shock. A fat guy in Jasper's leather studs picked up the conversation baton. "Come again?"

While Dyal'xern leaned against the lamp pole—was he getting board?—Ruqojjen spread his arms out wide. "By fighting with each other, you prolong your own misery. That is why you're both to blame, for perpetuating your situation. In the end, your fighting will destroy you both." More silence. Maybe his words were sinking in. "Yet neither of you is responsible for bringing this misfortune upon yourselves. That falls on the shoulders of certain…others."

More individuals joined the two parties. Seeing the two gangs together without trying to butcher one another must've been a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. It got the attention of more locals, baggies and leather studs alike, the top two 'cliques' here, if not the only two.

"They cast you out from their society because you didn't meet their expectations. Now, while you waste your energies on infighting, they're laughing at you. Instead of focusing your anger on the cause of your mutual suffering, you take it out on each other, despite having more in common than either of you will admit, a common enemy to boot." Ruqojjen was sticking to his plan, talking about the people and not about himself, Dyal'xern, me, or the Nyufalng. He said nothing of the Divine or Jrysthovuh either. It was insurance. If worse came to worse and the two gangs ignored him, they'd just go back to killing each other. We'd just be two nameless men and an ass-wiggling teenage girl, forgotten by the slaughter fest.

But right now, they seemed to be pondering his words. Maybe his plan would succeed after all. Someone on Buck's side spoke up, but drastically changing the tone. "Who the fuck are you? Why should we take you seriously?"

"Yeah," someone from Jasper's party called out. "I'll bet you're just a sack of hot air. You think you can march right in here and tell us what to do?"

So far, Ruqojjen's plan was working…but only halfway. He'd gotten them to put aside their differences, but they were teaming up to doubt him. I could envision both gangs mobbing him and the Air-smasher. Sure, the High Shenthaxa and the Pung Thoshidei could easily inflict massive casualties upon both street gangs and send the survivors packing, but all this would be for nothing. Time wasted is exactly that.

"You think you're such a fucking badass?" Someone else in Buck's group called out from the back. "I think you're full o' shit." The baggies group divided itself in two, forming a clear aisle that led to the alleyway. Something large and animate was back there, but the lighting was too shitty for me to make out the details. "I was planning to let Brauxu go primal on Jasper and his bunch, but now I'll unleash the giant on your preachy ass."

A rotund baggy walked down the aisle, pulling something behind him with a large, thick chain. It stepped into the lit street, a Neanderthal-like creature wearing a sleeveless, stripped shirt and a wrap-around diaper on its pelvic area. Though slouching, it was easily almost three times the height of a man.

"You got one too, eh?" Jasper looked up at the giant and back at his own crew. "Bring out Dogaki," he ordered. "We'll test Mr. Preacher and Mr. Mute against our catch." A leather stud carrying another heavy chain brought over a similar creature. The carrier unhooked the chain from the giant. "Test Dogaki's aggression on these two." Jasper motioned for his party to clear out.

"Yeah," sneered the man loosening the other giant's chain. "Brauxu, feed these trespassers some concrete!" The baggies vacated the area to watch from the sidelines, leaving the two giants with Ruqojjen and Dyal'xern. The High Shenthaxa turned to the Air-smasher and nodded.

Possessing reflex-boost knowledge, Ruqojjen dashed toward the 'Dogaki' creature, scarcely visible as he closed the distance between them. The lumbering slowpoke giant had no clue that its smaller opponent was between its legs. With a leap, Ruqojjen delivered some flying punches to the creature's calf muscle, his hands illuminated with an aura of yellowish gold and whitish silver as he channeled Spirit Stream energy into his attacks, a technique that over-stimulated the target's aggression. The leg muscle burst open, and the giant collapsed to its knee. As it fell, Ruqojjen climbed up its backside. He stood on its shoulder, crouched and leapt again. Yellow and white flashes enveloped his foot as he delivered a drop kick to the base of the creature's skull. The giant's head began to wobble from side to side. Ruqojjen back-flipped off its neck as the thing collapsed forward with a loud, wet splattering noise. Blood poured from its nostrils like snot wads, as did chunks of its ruptured brain. The technique Ruqojjen used on this giant humanoid was practically suited to disposing of such a creature, one filled with excessive adrenaline.

The 'Brauxu' creature was fairing no better against Dyal'xern. It tried swatting him from overhead, but a twin uppercut stopped the massive hand cold. A tall blur extended from Dyal'xern's fists to beyond the creature's hand, a pressurized wad of air compressed into a large spike which Dyal'xern used to impale the giant's palm. The fifteen-foot primate staggered back, screaming in pain. Dyal'xern jumped into the air and levitated himself, a blur underneath each foot. He brought his hands to his hip. A blurring, pulsating object formed between his hands, growing larger as it distorted the imagery behind. Certainly his Pirusymn stone was glowing. His eyes and scars were probably shimmering as well, but he'd covered them all up. When the blur was equal to his size, he pushed forward with both hands, flinging the blade of air pressure into the second giant's neck. The jugular vein split open and blood gushed out onto the cobblestone street. The 'Brauxu' toppled face-down into the gore.

Me? I just stayed where I was. Taking down large creatures such as those two was not beyond my abilities, but it'd require more effort on my part, and would by no means be that quick. I let the experts do their giant slaying, content to simply watch. Brauxu and Dogaki were now just two more pieces of litter on the streets of this urban shit hole.

Dyal'xern leapt down from his 'platforms' and landed near the baggy who'd been wielding the Brauxu chain. The goon timidly retreated from the tall Pung Thoshidei, back-stepping pigeon-toed into the crowd with a wet stain on his groin. Surely Dyal'xern was on yet another ego trip. An arrogant smirk was most likely behind that demonic theatre mask. I could not assume his exact thoughts, but he was probably thinking along these lines for sure: _Yeah, step back. I killed your lard ass pet, so you have no chance against me. You're about as threatening as a cockroach. Wait, I shouldn't say that. It's degrading to the roaches. _

He of course, remained silent, letting Ruqojjen continue the negotiation. The Nyufalng leader adjusted his sunglasses. Had he taken them off during his giant-killing, or did they somehow remain in place? "Badass enough?" he inquired sarcastically. The shocked punks, many covered in splattered giant blood, were still digesting the display of Nyufalng skills. "Now, if you must know, who we are is irrelevant. We're not the ones who put you here." The goons started chatting with each other. I could hear yes's and see plenty of nods while the High Shenthaxa delivered more motivation. "As we speak, your enemy is growing stronger. The power of their military muscle increases. Soon there will be nothing to keep them from amassing, storming in here, and literally driving you into the sea. The more you fight with each other, the easier it'll be for them to finish you off."

Buck and Jasper stepped forward again, representing their respective groups. The leather stud took a deep breath. "We gotta talk."

_change in s & n_

Almost a week's worth of effort had been rewarded, on Relm's part.

I on the other hand, didn't learn much about the intentions of this Major General Nalvier's promotion. Yves was typically out and about minding his local government responsibilities, so the chance to discuss Jidooran politics with him was non-existent. His maids, butlers, and guards knew nothing. Neither did any of the locals I'd spoken to when I explored the town. Either that or they were just keeping quiet on the matter.

For the moment though, I was just admiring the crowds. The festival had commenced.

"Look Celes. That was my idea. I chose that color scheme." Relm pointed at the approaching parade float, almost jumping up and down like she always did when full of excitement.

The parade was held on one of the major streets in downtown Fondanin. A full team of chocobos was pulling the float in question. It looked like a naval ship scaled down to size, painted in sky blue and glistening silver. Atop it in full military dress and surrounded by squads of soldiers was the Major General himself, alongside his wife. The couple waved to the bystanders on the sidewalks and in the windows. Camera flashes went off every second as he passed.

Over his head, the flag of Fondanin waved in the late-morning breeze, showing off its color design, yellow in the middle and black on the sides. Directly above it was the national flag of Jidoor, a dark gray backdrop with a horizontal red strip through the center. Thin white borders divided the red from the gray.

Relm tugged at the sleeve of my light-weight jacket. "What do you think?" When Relm Arrowny wants answer, you'd goddamn well better give her one.

"It's perfect. What else did you help build down there?" I hadn't checked on Relm while she helped construct the floats. I'd been out questioning local Fondanites.

From our spot on the elevated footbridge, we saw the Major General's boat float pass beneath us. The next parade piece resembled an airship not unlike Setzer's late Blackjack. I'd seen airship miniatures auctioned down in Jidoor's capital. Rare chocobos were also prizes there, birds with feathers of pale green and blue, not the usual banana yellow.

So it was hardly a surprise when a chocobo float appeared behind the airship one. "I did the giant comic-like bird." Relm answered my question, pointing at the colored chocobo float. "It's covered with flowers and ivy." Her choice of coloring gave the float a mixed green-and-blue look.

I gazed down as more floats went by, my thoughts divided between the parade visuals and the soon-to-be results of Major General Nalvier's rise in power. The strength of Jidoor's army would increase, but did the wealthy nation plan to expand its borders, trade routes, or political appeal?

As I watched more parade floats pass under our feet, I felt my stomach put on a little weight. I tapped Relm on the shoulder. "Relm, my bladder's calling. The champagne I drank at last night's dinner is ready to come out now."

The teenager chuckled. "Okay, but hurry back. You'll miss the rest of the floats."

Nodding, I picked up my 'umbrella' and left Relm's company, walking down the stairs of the footbridge.

Finding a lavatory wasn't easy. Most of the businesses I came across were closed for the celebration. But I finally found one, in a park a few blocks down from the footbridge. The park was large and sprawling, but getting around was simple, as most people had crammed along the street to watch the parade. Spotting the isolated toilet block was simple.

I did my thing in the square structure. Before leaving, I removed my jacket and adjusted my armor vest. I had slipped it on before leaving Yves's Manor, and hoped it would only serve as an extra layer of clothing and not be required for its specified usage. My Strato was still covered in both its standard sheath and its disguise. I hoped that would remain as well.

There was a loud bang outside. Did some of the parade pieces have sound effects? It seemed to fit, but as more bangs came, the noises of the crowd increased. My first thought was that cheering had erupted, but the voices became more pronounced as screams of something else.

I pushed the door open and ran outside. The crowd was now dispersing in all directions, screaming and shouting. I ran too, not away from the pandemonium but towards it. Something was wrong.

Smoke began to rise as more and more nobles scattered. The parade float behind them was burning. Claws of yellow and orange flames were devouring the wooden decoration, spewing a pyre of black smoke overhead. The chocobos were squawking madly, trying to wrestle from their harness pulleys and flee the inferno. The fire actually released them, incinerating the cables that pulled the float. The chocobos ran off, bowling over and trampling some equally terrified nobles in their sprint for safety.

Then I saw it. The large yellow birds were hiding it until they fled. A man lay on the ground in a pool of blood. I rushed closer to inspect the body. Had he been trampled to death by the birds? I hoped that was the case. His death would only be accidental if that were true.

My hopes were destroyed. The man had a single cut on his neck, too precise to be from a random chocobo talon. He'd been killed deliberately.

Amid the chaos came the ringing of metal. My katana was ready. I'd torn off the umbrella covering and thrown it aside without realizing it. I didn't want to use it when I'd packed it, but now…

My thoughts were blurry. This was an attack on the parade, but who was doing it? Where were they? How many? What about…

I'd left her…

I held the empty sheath in my off hand. I had nowhere to stash it. Even had I not left my bag behind at the manor, the sheath was too long to fit inside, and fixing it to my belt would cost time. I was armed, and could use the sheath as a blocking utility. There were assailants here, and at risk was…

Who was behind this? Who would have the reason?

Behind the burning float was a collection of bodies dressed in military garb. A Fondanite flag lay among them. These men were a Fondanite color guard. Another man stood over the bodies with his back to me, a club mace and a short sword in his hands. He spun around and we made eye contact. Though he cackled like a maniacal drunk, he carried himself like a skilled fighter. His clothes were ripped and torn, and they looked familiar.

Of course, it was them. They were behind it. No one else had the grudge against Fondanin and Jidoor like they did. I'd already dealt with them in the past, back when they mugged and killed travelers or battled one another in groups. I knew them well, and knew how vicious they were.

Zozo thugs.

Criminals with a long-lasting grudge against Jidooran nobility. Now they were venting that resentment in a fury of blades and bloodshed.

The armed punk let out a mock war cry. His noises didn't distract me from his arsenal. He was upon me as I swung my weapon into both of his. For a mere bandit, he was quite skilled with his weapons. Two crashes of metal came as I parried his swings, but he held fast. If he wanted blood spilled, he'd get it. I had renounced my General-hood, but I was no less a fighting woman. I had to be now. She needed me.

I timed a counter perfectly. An upward bash to the nose from my sword handle sent the bandit staggering. He was open, and I used a diagonal swing to cut him down. He collapsed backwards, his face split open with a deep gash running through his right eyebrow, across his nose, and down his left cheek. For good measure, I made a thrust into his heart, making sure he wouldn't get back up.

No sooner had I dispatched the first goon than a second one appeared, armed with two axes. Expecting battle proficiency on this one's part, I made passes at him. He blocked, and made passes of his own.

One thing I learned about melee combat; don't just fight with your hands. Remembering this, I brought my knee into the goon's chin. Having stunned him, I slashed at his right upper arm. He growled in pain and dropped that axe, giving me a chance to slice into his skull with all my strength. It wasn't enough to sever the top third of his head completely, but enough to slay him. With a shake of my katana, the dead man fell to the ground.

Now I'd seen it. This goon was clad in different garb than the first. Rival gangs in Zozo distinguished themselves by their clothing style. Two differently dressed crooks were here in Fondanin…

…cooperating in this surprise attack. The crooks had put their differences aside and were united in stopping this military promotion. Generations of resentments were motivating old rivals to join hands and kill the wealthy with extreme prejudice.

I ran back up the main street, stepping over the dead and trying not to bump into the living. A caped noblewoman fell to the concrete, killed by a throwing javelin that struck her head. A younger woman clad in a leather vest appeared, pulling the mini-lance from the casualty.

This female goon had tattoos on her upper breasts and stud piercings in her septum. I was her next target, as she tossed the javelin my way. Instincts on full alert, I swung into the projectile and sent it back to her. She grabbed it in its flight and charged. I side-stepped and she swung wide, scraping my Strato with her pole arm. Another skillful brigand from Zozo, her swinging drove me back.

Furious at loosing precious seconds, I dropped my Strato sheath, grabbed the short spear by its shaft, and pushed it aside. I pulled a crosscut and left a bloody X-mark on the punk woman's chest. She fell over and stayed down. I scooped up the sheath and continued running. I had to get back…

I almost vomited, dizzy and nauseous. The Zozoan gangs hadn't come alone. They'd brought their muscle creatures along for the assault. A section of the footbridge had been torn off, and a large Mt. Zozo gigas was grappling one of the remaining segments, jostling it with the intentions of tearing it apart.

She'd been there!

The humanoid giant yanked the segment from its supports. The steel-reinforced wooden bridge folded like cardboard in the gigas's hands, planks and beams coming loose as the monster flattened it.

I could feel my eyes water. I'd promised Edgar and Charise I'd look after her, at their personal request. I never envisioned this would happen, but I was still here for that purpose.

My throat was dry and I almost fell to my knees. Adrenaline kept me upright. I screamed out in horror, not knowing her fate. My thoughts were verbalized, but among the chaos, they were heard only by me. I inhaled and let out my fright and desperation once again.

"RELM!"


	16. The Mist of Uncertainty

**Chapter 16: The Mist of Uncertainty**

My pulse thumped a mile a minute, but my concentration was frozen in the moment. I stared at the broken bridge. There was no sign of Relm.

Images and memories of Zozoan crime engulfed me. Killing traveling merchants for their goods was a common felony, but the crooks didn't stop there. Prostitution, drug brewing…kidnapping, rape. It took little imagination to combine…

No!

_Never!_

Each second I delayed could prove fatal to Relm, if not worse. I gripped the Strato with newfound intent. Shouts and screams intermixed with sadistic laughter and bellowed orders. Amid the clashes of weapons came a loud groaning. Squads of local troops were firing on the nearby gigas, shooting crossbow arrows into its neck. The bow-guns weren't automatic like the Figaroan model, but they were cartridge fed, as the fire rate was too quick for a single-shot make.

Up ahead, the army formed a row across the wide street. Their large shields and lances were ready to intercept any Zozoans in their path, and several goons were impaled against the ordered spear tips. No thugs would make off with Relm in that direction.

Then it struck me. Relm was young but intelligent. She wouldn't wait around for some filthy shit from Zozo to grab her. In fact, she'd get to a hiding place as soon as possible. The presence of that gigas would only hasten her escape. She'd bail from the foot bridge and seek haven elsewhere.

To my right was the gigas, now bleeding from several throat wounds. Relm wouldn't waste two seconds around that thing. She'd go completely in another direction. Before me was the line of pikes. I'd ruled out that direction already. Behind me were the remains of a parade float, vandalized by the ravenous crooks. She'd avoid that direction too, and all the buildings in the immediate proximity were closed down for the festival, their windows and doors covered with shutter grates.

The only direction to pursue was to the left, into a shaded alleyway.

At the alley's opening, an elderly man lay on the concrete with his head bashed in. Above the corpse was a large, muscular gangster in loose pants, wielding an equally large staff-mace. He raised the bulky weapon and leveled a vicious glare my way. With a furious yell, he charged, declaring me his next victim.

A large foe's size can be your advantage. If they are too massive to lift up, make them fall down. As the goon raised his pole to arm-level, I stepped in, dropped to a crouch, and swung low.

He stumbled forward onto the paved street, unable to stand. A Fondanite soldier with a round shield and spear finished the job with a thrust down into the goon's eye. He joined his peers as I went for the alley.

Another troop, a bowman, was at the other end. He was rushing somewhere, but a shiny object struck his face and took him down. Another man pulled the object from the dead soldier's face. It was some wickedly curving, Z-shaped throwing weapon with a grasping knob at its midpoint. The thrower was another goon. His hair was dyed a hideous light green, and he wore spurred boots, ripped jeans, and a dark leather vest streaked with the blood of his prey. The stains matched the gleam in his eyes, which were now trained on me. He twirled the Z-blade and flung it.

Reflexively, I swung my katana into the weapon as it sailed through the air. My intent was to deflect it back at him, but the man actually _caught_ _it in midair_, mere inches from his chest. Smirking, he reached into his bloodied vest and produced an identical Z-blade. "Let's dance, bitch," he cackled madly.

He charged me, swinging his blades in hand-to-hand combat. Logically, the advantage should've been mine; my katana had a longer reach than his Z-knives. But the goon was quick with his swings. Sparks flew as our weapons scraped against one another. My blunt sheath was of little offensive use against his sharp, swift parries. It was more of a defensive measure against his blurry swings.

I side-stepped, a move he did not expect. His vertical slash cut nothing but air, and this opening was my chance. My katana blade pierced his hip.

That should've dropped him, but the man only grunted, still on his feet, still every bit aggressive. What gave this thug superhuman stamina? Then I saw it. The bloody, accented veins in his eyes answered the question. Zozo was a hotbed of drug activity, and this man surely was among the industry's top customers.

I withdrew the Strato and back-stepped again as the durable crook twisted sideways. I presumed this was a horizontal slash attack. It was a foot sweep.

I fell on my knees, but was on my feet as the gangster raised his weapon. With another chance to strike, I aimed for his hand.

My blade stuck its mark. The man's left wrist was slit wide open, and one of his knives went flying from his grasp, hitting the back wall behind him. His remaining weapon came up for another slash. This time, I placed my own weapon in the sharp curve of the Z-blade, catching it in motion.

His free hand grabbed my off hand. I kneed him in the stomach as a counter, but the grip did not break. His face slammed into my forehead.

I was thrown back. My shoulders hit the wall behind me, and I slumped down against it. The goon laughed and pulled _yet another_ Z-knife from his vest. Amazingly, I still gripped the Strato and sheath. I raised them both defensively, knowing the drugged-up goon would rush for the kill.

But looking up, I saw something else. The man's eyes rolled back, and his head tilted likewise. He fell to his knees and toppled sideways. With aches in my forehead and shoulder blades, I got up to observe the fallen gang member. His own Z-blade, which I'd previously knocked from his grasp, was now embedded in the back of his skull.

But how? None had entered this alleyway during our scuffle, and there were no Fondanin troops close by. All that was behind the dead thug was a row of trash cans.

The lid on the rightmost trash can was rising. Underneath, a purple beret wrapped in a lavender bandana emerged, followed by two gold braids and a young feminine face that looked both terrified and relived.

"Relm!" Despite my cramps, I smiled broadly as the teenage girl threw the lid aside and stepped out from the trash receptacle. I was right. She did find a suitable hiding spot, in a place where she knew I'd come looking for her. Relm was Relm, and now, that's what saved her life.

I stepped over the dead Zozoan and gave the youngest Returner a full-on hug. I didn't even care if she smelled of dead fish. She was alive. "Your weapon-throwing is just as sharp as my katana blade."

"Those weird people broke out of the float and st-st-started attacking spectators. Then that big monster appeared and started punching at th-the bridge." Relm kept stuttering in her panic. Despite this, she observantly noted my weapon of choice. "Isn't that your personal sword-d-d? Where'd it come from?"

I revealed the truth about my presence. "Edgar and Charise personally asked me to join you, in case something bad happened. I hid the sword under the umbrella cloth. I needed it, even more than they could've imagined."

"My protection?" She asked, her speech rate slowing down.

"You could say that." I glanced behind me at the dead goon. "And despite this unforeseen role reversal, I'll still provide that. Now let's go."

Relm's eyes began to water. She looked at the main street. The gigas was dying, but the row of pike-holders was being pushed back as more goons swarmed the line's position. "What about Yves? He was at the parade's front, where I could see giants and fires. We gotta help him!"

I tucked the scabbard under my arm and placed a hand on Relm's shoulder. "Relm, listen to me. Yves has personal bodyguards, not to mention the army. You and I just have each other. My major purpose for being here is to keep you safe, remember?" Relm nodded. "Good. Let's get the fuck out of here." I spoke firmly, though not without understanding her concern. Still, Yves was not my priority.

Relm wiped her tears with the sleeve of her green cardigan. Before leaving the alley, she took the crossbow from the dead soldier.

One street over from the parade zone, the goons were still chasing civilians and fighting with local troops. A young couple ran hand-in-hand from a blazing fire. In a blink, a thug in a leather jacket with slicked-back hair jumped in front of them, swinging a broadsword and slaying them both with deep slashes across their stomachs. The two civilians dropped to the grass in pools of each others blood as the closest soldier, an older man with a fencing epee, rushed their killer. His first thrust caught the assailant in his shoulder, but with a growl he kicked the trooper aside. The epee blade snapped, its tip embedded in the seemingly oblivious crook. The goon was instead focused on his opponent, whom he pinned to the ground and decapitated with his thick sword.

Behind me, Relm aimed the bow-gun and let off a shot. It struck the goon's right hand, burying itself in his knuckles and causing him to drop the sword. While he roared in pain and fell to his knees, I charged and thrust at his face. My Strato was faithful, its tip piercing the goon's tongue, spearing through his lower jaw at a forward down angle, and entering his neck.

Once I tugged the blade free, I faced a winking Relm. "Thank you for the initiative, but we need to bail like yesterday. Don't go on the offensive unless forced to," I advised. "Let the local army deal with these pricks."

We passed a market square and came upon the next hurdle. _Yet another_ goddamn mountain gigas was along for the raid. This one though, was taking a beating. Chocobo-drawn catapults were hammering the colossal humanoid on one side while a line of shooters fired upon it from the other, distracting it so the catapults could reload and shoot while its back was turned.

Crouched in our hiding place, a corner formed by the hedge and a low stone wall, I watched the catapults fire once again. As the latest rocks bashed into the giant's skull, it let out a high-pitched wale and collapsed. Once it fell, something exploded beyond our vantage point. The artillery troops drew weapons and left to deal with this new turn, leaving the chocobo-drawn catapult behind.

I eyed the chocobos. Both birds wore ridding saddles, to which the catapult pulleys were attached with thick clamps. The clamps could double as mounting steps. It was just a matter of mounting and cutting the pulleys.

I pointed at the two mounts. "There's our chance. Relm, stay close to me." She nodded. With a leap, I vaulted over the short wall and mad-dashed to the closest bird, taking its reins. "Okay Relm, You mount first." There was no response. "Relm? RELM!"

My nightmare was unfolding behind me. Relm had been disarmed of the crossbow by a scruffy goon wearing an eye patch and some baggy pants, with a sheathed dagger tucked in his belt. His left arm had pinned hers against her chest, and his right arm was wrapped tightly around her face. Her free hand was grasping at a rear wheel of the catapult. While her voice was muffled, her pleading eyes said more than speech ever could. Her grip on the wheel was breaking loose.

I couldn't let one Zozoan finger touch Relm. Now, two complete hands were hell bent on taking her from me. The world was black and red in that moment. It was now or never. I charged in blind fury at the would-be abductor…

…and instantly regretted such blindness. A strong pair of hands grabbed me from the side and threw me to the cement. I'd been so dead set on charging Relm's captor that I overlooked another goon to the right. The man stepped on my sword hand with his foot, gripped my sheath hand, and pressed his knee into my stomach. His hair was gelled into spikes, piercings lined his lips, and wavy patterns were tattooed along his arms. He also wore oversized pants.

"Impeccable timing Buck," gloated Relm's kidnapper, who joined his accomplice. "And I thought I'd have two wildcats to deal with at once. This little Fondanite brat's enough by herself." Relm was now in the eye patch goon's clutches.

"The feisty ones bring in the most business." Buck the bandit chuckled while restraining me against the ground. Held down, I could only look at Relm. Her eyes met mine. If only one of us could break free. There had to be something…

I had an idea, one born of desperation, a primitive animal instinct. Buck was pushing my hand downward, and my counter motions were going nowhere. But if I pulled in another direction, he might not expect it.

I dropped the sheath in my left hand, pulled my wrist in towards myself, and in doing so, drew in Buck's hand. I opened my mouth and put all my strength into my jaws. Success! Buck's thumb was no delicacy, but taste is irrelevant when landing a surprise counterattack.

The creep yelled in pain, and I bit down harder. And Relm, bright as she was, got the hint. Her kidnapper's hand was clapped upon her mouth, so it was much easier for her. The abductor screamed in his own agony, his grip on Relm loosening. She reached for the dagger in the man's belt.

As for Buck, his hold on my off-hand was gone. I reached for his mouth, grabbing two of his lip rings. With a mighty tug, the small hoops were torn from their encasing flesh. Buck yelled again, falling backwards and rolling on the ground, blood gushing from his lips…or more accurately, what remained of his lips.

I scooped up the sheath and stood as Relm joined me. Het ex-captor staggered about, dazed from Relm shoving the dagger into his kneecap. I gauged my target and stepped up, raising the Strato for one specialized pass.

The blade once again did its job, stabbing the goon in a region below the belt with nerve endings and blood vessels aplenty. He'd never reproduce, and remain sterile as a mule for the rest of his life…which would end in seconds. The blood pool underneath him was the largest I'd seen yet.

_Fuck you Zozo street trash, and Relm's not even a Fondanite. _I wanted to curse a string of insults and vulgarities at him, but escaping with Relm was all that mattered. I wouldn't let her fall into Zozoan hands again.

Relm had already mounted the chocobo. Now it was my turn. I climbed up behind the girl. Sitting behind her felt better then putting her in the rear. I could see her more easily if I was in the back. This riding saddle had some empty weapon slats on its backside, so I used one for the Strato's sheath. I'd need at least one hand for the reins, and I kept the sword at the ready, if the escape wasn't entirely smooth.

"Hold on Relm." The teen girl gripped the saddle horn as I reached down to cut the pulley cables.

"Don't walk away from me!" came a furious voice from behind.

It was Buck, still bleeding from his mouth, getting to his feet shakily. He wasn't through yet.

_Escape with Relm_. That objective echoed in my mind. Let the army deal with Buck the half-lipped bandit. "H'ya!" I called out a universal command for the chocobo to run. It chirped as it broke into a sprint. We were off.

But danger wasn't totally left behind. Something was pulling the bird to its left. Looking down, I saw that Buck was holding one of the loose cable ends. He was nowhere near getting a hold of Relm or me, but I didn't want any goons tailing us, and he could easily pull the bird off balance.

Yet slashing off the excess cable was easier said than done. Reaching down to attain the proper leverage was an issue. The cable and Buck were low to the ground, and I couldn't lean at that angel without falling off completely.

That left the option of dragging Buck to his death on the rigid streets of Fondanin. It was a temping thought, a fate he surely deserved, but something else caught my attention. Amid the scampering civilians, goons, and military personnel, I spotted a feature in the surroundings that could solve our Buck problem.

Slowly, I steered the chocobo towards the left side of the street, avoiding locals and soldiers as best I could. Gang members were more than welcome to be trampled by our mount, and a red-clad woman with knives—called 'Slamdancers' on the streets of Zozo— received the honor of being gored by the chocobo's strong beak. One less thug to annoy the troops.

The bird was nearing the sidewalk to our left, a sidewalk lined with ironwork lampposts. My intention was to veer toward the row of streetlamps, then curve sharply back to the right at the precise moment we passed the next light pole. A quick glance from the corner of my eye revealed that Buck was still holding on for all his worthless life, a life that would end because of that very grip, if I timed this right.

A street lamp was coming up. I reached behind and sheathed my katana. Two-handed steering was a must. "Hold on Relm." I repeated my earlier instruction, and hugged the girl as I sharpened the turn's curve, without angling ourselves into the lamppost. And then, the pole in question was nearly upon us. Now came the equally sharp right turn. I steered, and the pulley cord, complete with its dangling goon, swung out to the side…

…and right into the passing lamppost. There was a low, sharp metallic banging. A scream and a blood fountain erupted below us to the left. Though the scream was drawn out, it faded as we kept moving. The weight on our left was gone.

By now, the crowd was thinning out. We were nearing the limits of the chaos. Additionally, some mounted soldiers on chocobos were charging past us with buglers sounding a charge call, an elite cavalry en route to eliminate the remaining goons. Up till this point, I'd avoided Fondanin soldiers. As an armed civilian, I could be mistaken for a Zozoan attacker. Even now, I stayed out of the army's path.

Finally, we cleared the danger. This area bore no signs of fires, bodies, or vandalism, and the din had long been left behind. For now, the ambush was confined to Fondanin's downtown district, and those mounted troopers would give their all to keep it that way.

"Ce-cel-les, who are those poep-ple who attacked the par-ade?" Relm's question was punctuated with hyperventilating. As the adrenaline wore off, I realized the girl was sweating. I was sweating too, but that was a lesser thought.

Suddenly, I remembered that Relm had never set foot in Zozo. She'd been spared the experience of dealing with its criminal populace…until now. "Street gangs from Zozo," I answered while calming my breaths and pulse.

"The town of bandits?" Relm gasped. "Owzer told me all about them, how they would often burglarize shops and museums in Jidoor's capital."

"He was right, but robbery is the least of their offenses." I loosened my grip slightly, holding Relm in a consoling hug instead of a security grip.

"What happened to Yves?" Relm asked, her breath slowing to a healthier pace.

"I don't know," I sighed, and left the rest unspoken.

Relm didn't press. It was hardly something she wished to think about. She asked, "Where are we going?"

Until now, I hadn't thought in detail why I'd chosen this route. It had all been subconscious. "We're going back to Yves's place. It's closer than the harbor, and it's in a secured community. Plus, knowing him, there's a long-range radio somewhere in that manor."

"Oh," was Relm's simple answer.

The commercial outskirts gradually became residential suburbs. We passed many splendid houses and mansions. I doubted the owners were anywhere inside. Most of them had surely attended the parade downtown. Many would never return to their splendorous dwellings.

Relm and I rode the chocobo through the streets at the foot of the hill. Save for the bird chirps and the chocobo's feet against the pavement, it was silent, eerily so. As we rode up the hill, I looked back. Scattered plumes of black smoke rose from random areas in the far-off downtown district, but beyond that, there was no indication of the war zone that had just unfolded.

Minutes later, we finally arrived at the DuParme manor. Relm and I dismounted as the guard on duty faced us and gasped, "Ladies! What happened?"

Our demeanor and facial expressions told but a sliver of the story. My pepper-washed jeans had some bloodstains, but the real attention grabber was a severed human arm, covered in wavy tattoos from wrist to shoulder, tangled in the remains of the pulley cord, torn from the shoulder of its person. A piece of Buck had traveled with us, but the rest of the goon was nowhere in sight.

I faced the manor guard. "Zozoan gangs ambushed the parade."

His reaction was expected. "What! What of Lord DuParme, and the Major-General?"

"I don't know," I said, pulling my sheathed katana from the riding saddle. "But what I do know is that we need a radio. There has to be one inside."

The troubled guard stepped back and opened the gate for Relm and me. "In the office, northwest corner of the first floor."

I placed a hand on his shoulder. "Perfect. I would suggest getting some extra security staff and keeping a watchful eye open for any suspicious individuals." The guard nodded. We left him to his duties and ran inside Yves's manor.

The office was actually a combined study-library. Yves kept anything from financial records to books to work orders in this room. It was less luxurious than most other rooms, stressing practical function over bombastic form. And with its simple design, the large, elaborate radio bank stood out amid typical book shelves and furniture.

I pulled up a chair and started working the device. Relm claimed she was dizzy, her nerves on edge. There was a couch in the office corner, so she flopped down on it. I kept sliding the levers to differing power quantities, and adjusted the frequency each time. None of the present manor staff knew how to use this radio for long-range transmissions, like the kind I wished to send. I hoped the invading crooks hadn't fucked with the city's long-range radio transmitters. I'd have to keep trying.

_change in s & n_

Charise and I ate lunch in the dining hall. The meal was another of Marielle's fine dishes, a seasoned crabmeat with flavored rice, and a bean soup on the side. Normally, we'd be engaged in small talk during such a tasty meal, but this time was different. We had company.

Antonio Larsone, Minister of the Treasury, pointed at a chart behind him. "My Liege, we have collected enough taxation money to begin the first phase of the plumbing expansion." He flipped to the next chart page, a map of Figaro City. "As I recall, you planned on starting the expansions here." The Minister tapped his index finger on the pumping utilities close to the southern beach.

"That's correct." I took a bite of crabmeat. "We'll start the new lines at the closest purifiers, and branch out from there."

Antonio took the last few spoonfuls of soup and finished the final bites of shellfish. "Very well. I'll deliver this news to the Reservoir Guild. They've been awaiting a development." He stood, folded up the display chart, tucked it beneath his arm, and left our company.

At last, I could finally take that pivotal first step in re-plumbing the capital. It was quite relieving, in fact. Waiting around was far more tedious than taking action. This first step was most likely the easiest. There was only unpaved dirt around the said pumping sites, no streets to dig around and close off while the pipe-fitters did their work. That would change as the new lines reached further into the city, but I was confident that it could be dealt with accordingly when the time came.

Now that my wife and I had dealt with business, we could be less formal. I took another spoonful of soup. "Finally. I've really been anxious to get this plumbing expansion started."

Charise grinned while breaking a crab shell. "You were so hesitant before. Maybe it's fun after all."

"Right, and a work shift is just a filler between bouts of free time." The two of us chuckled at one another.

We cleaned our plates. Dining staff came in and collected the dirty utensils and dishes. "Edgar, if I didn't know better, I'd swear you actually _enjoy_ this water works task. You're giving it so much enthusiasm and spirit," said my wife in a rather provocative tone. "When this is all said and done, maybe you can upgrade Vardigga's water utilities."

I leaned in close. "One thing at a time sweetheart." She touched my leg, running her hand up my thigh. I put my hand over her breasts, feeling her heart beat underneath. She licked her lips, and I ran my own tongue along my teeth. "Shall we?"

"Not quite." She looked to the right slowly and purposefully, suggesting our solitude had ended.

She was right. Deanne Sarholme walked over towards our long dining table. "Greetings Lieutenant," I spoke in a business-like tone again. "What can I do for you?"

"King Edgar, Queen Charise. You're needed in the command center." Deanne spoke with a tone of uncertainty, but she didn't elaborate. "We have a carriage awaiting you."

Business wasn't yet concluded. We followed Lt. Sarholme out to the front castle steps. Col. Jerom Frennard and a squad of Privates stood by the wagon that Deanne mentioned. We climbed inside.

The command center was active with its usual business. "Colonel, what's this about?" I asked Jerom as we passed some corridors.

"I can't really say, as we have so few details. You were requested, that's all we know." The officer showed us a communications room with radio consoles of the highest Figaroan grade. "In here, Sire."

Deanne took a seat near a bank with a flashing green light. As she did so, we were joined by a stern-looking Cyan and an equally troubled Locke. What was going on? Deanne announced, "It's ready. They're awaiting your reply, King Edgar."

Curious, if not a bit confused, I took the seat which she'd vacated and pressed the speaker button. "This is King Edgar."

"Edgar! Shit, I've been trying to get in touch with you for almost an hour. I couldn't reach the castle or any ships."

"Celes? What's wrong?" I didn't like her tone. Even with slight static over the radio speaker, I could tell something was amiss from her voice. I looked around, but my wife, Cyan, Locke, and the military personnel all had questioning looks on their faces. Whatever it was, Celes had been saving it just for me. "Where are you?"

"I'm in Fondanin," she answered from her end. Her voice took on a darker edge. "You won't believe this, but Zozoan gangs attacked the parade this morning, killing civilians and military indiscriminately."

The world spun for a split second. I hoped that I'd misheard Celes over the background static, but a glance at my company dashed those hopes. They'd all heard the exact same line. Locke growled some profanities. He looked ready to punch a hole in the wall, until Cyan placed a hand upon his shoulder.

A blur of questions raced through my mind, each one just as important as the next. "What happened?"

"I'm not really sure, but I heard something about their hiding in parade floats and bursting out at the precise moment. They also brought some gigai from the Zozoan Mountains along. It wasn't just gang members attacking."

"Where's Relm?" Locke cut in, his hot-headed tendencies emerging. I wasn't sure if Celes could hear him over his distance from the speaker.

"Are you okay? What about Relm?" I asked the question to put Locke at ease. I myself wanted to know, as Charise and I both requested Celes travel with Relm for safety reasons, which had just become more important than either of us envisioned.

"Relm's with me. We're fine, physically at least. She's eating right now."

Locke relaxed, as much as he could. Next to him, Cyan retained a controlled face, but I could tell his concern wasn't much different than Locke's, even if his military training enabled him to mask it. "Eating? What's your location?" I inquired.

"We're both at Yves's manor, having fled here from the downtown district where the parade was attacked. On that note, I cannot say what became of Yves, or Major-General Jacques Nalvier, the man leading the procession. The celebration was to commemorate his rank ascendance."

I rubbed my temples and let this grim revelation sink in. I had to get as many details as possible, even if I dreaded hearing them spelled out. "What's going on now?"

"As we fled, a mounted cavalry passed us. I suppose reinforcements from Jidoor's capital will be called in at some point and they'll declare martial law. I don't know the full range of the attack or its complete death toll, but this is a secure neighborhood. We're out of harm's way." There was silence on her end. I was about to speak on mine when she added another piece. "Edgar, I also noticed the gangs were clad in different attire. That's usually how feuding gangs distinguished themselves, but the two parties were very cooperative in this ambush. It's like they put their in-fighting aside for a mutual cause, revenge against Jidooran cities."

I blinked. That last part had me feeling even more uncertain. I'd never known Zozo gangs to be cooperative. Though it was dangerous for outsiders caught in the middle—exactly what we'd been during our reluctant visits—the battles among Zozo's crime rings had always limited the thugs' potential of expanding their operations.

But if old foes became new allies against Fondanin and its parent nation Jidoor, the criminal gangs would prove more formidable and dangerous, even for established militaries. Were it in their capabilities, I could imagine Zozo mobsters ravaging towns much like the fallen Empire had done. The crooks already dealt an unforeseen blow to Fondanin, and at a crucial time when its military was increasing in power. And if these mere street thugs could control those massive mountain gigai…

Something snapped.

I realized, I had to be there, had to see this occurrence firsthand for myself. Monster attacks, monster evolution, and now a unity among criminals. Until this point, it was arguable that Figaro, and the Returners in particular, had been specified targets of the anomalies. Shedairah was a big trading partner with Figaro City, as Narshe was part of my kingdom. The lab was located within the capital. The killings at the coliseum the previous month were done partly out of Ultros's personal grudges, but also to attract Returner attention specifically.

But there was no true Returner link in Fondanin. Our friendship with Yves DuParme was of a personal nature, not one of business or political relations. Figaro didn't have any pacts or treaties with Jidoor or any of its city-states. The attack was the result of Zozoan resentments, and the timing of it made sense. But that left the question; how did feuding gangs unite and pull this off?

"Edgar? Are you still with me?"

I'd been lost in thought, and had momentarily tuned out Celes. "Yeah, I'm still here. I was just thinking. The important thing for you and Relm now is to stay put. I think I should be there to sample this and meet with Fondanite brass to discuss their response. We're neutral nations with each other, but Zozo thugs are a universal threat. If the syndicates plan on expanding, I the King should know about it, lest they choose Figaro as their next target."

"You're coming here? Alright. If that's so, contact me when you arrive. We'll wait here in the meantime." As Celes went on, some loud static began drowning out her words. It was happening on both ends. "Listen, the reception is getting fuzzy. I'll have to cut off. I'll see you later."

"Yes. Figaro out." With those final words, I pressed the off button on the radio console. The green light went out and the speaker coughed up a loud click before going silent. I stood from the chair and faced my company.

"Damn them!" Locke almost yelled. "Damn Zozo bandits. If any of them laid a hand on Celes or Relm, I'll personally cut their fucking balls off!" He fingered the hilt of a dagger in his belt.

"Uhh…Locke, knowing Celes, she's already done such to them, should that be the case." I tried to calm Locke down, but the rage did not subside. Had I been too casual in my approach?

Cyan placed his hand on Locke's, and gently removed the younger man's grip from the dagger. "Locke, there's no need for such aggression now. The reformed General has done all necessary to protect herself and young Miss Relm."

And just like that, Locke's cheeks regained their normal color, losing that reddish flush. Cyan's objective, professional demeanor got through to Locke, as it usually did. Something about the Doma Knight appealed to Locke; Cyan could reason with him when even my brother and I could not, despite having known Locke since our childhood. Maybe it was Cyan's lifestyle as a guardian that helped Locke relate. Locke was more of a protector for personal obsessive reasons than an actual profession, but their protective streaks bridged the gap of backgrounds and twenty plus years between them. Cyan had always been amazed at Locke's scouting abilities, and once mentioned something that I'd already concluded; were it not for his hot-headed temper and desire for leisurely exploration, Locke Cole would make a fine soldier.

As Locke took some deep breaths, Cyan looked at me. "King Edgar, you would leave your duties here and visit a city-state with whom we've no official alliance?"

I nodded. "Yes. There may be no alliance, but Celes and Relm were caught in this ambush, as was Yves, who's our personal friend and Fondanite contact. And Zozo bandits are criminals. They'll plunder any place they have the chance. If they're getting more cooperative, they could pose a threat here in Figaro at some point." No one argued that. "Fondanin's going through a crisis of a confusing nature. They need a strong presence right now, and who better than the King of Figaro and de facto leader of the Returners to lend that presence. I shouldn't be gone for more than a day, two at most."

"Very well," Cyan declared as he stood in attentively. "I shalt accompany you."

I placed my hands on the General's pauldron-covered shoulders. "Thank you Cyan, but in my absence, I'll need to keep a stand-in presence. You should stay here. Charise," I glanced at my wife "you should stay too. Meet with the Chancellor and discuss any matters the require it. Sarholme, you will accompany them."

"Aye, King Edgar." The Lieutenant saluted before departing the radio room with Cyan and Charise.

Locke was tapping his thumb and fingers together, awaiting my 'orders'. "Locke, you'll come with me. We'll head down to the port and prepare a ship for the journey." I was starting to miss the Falcon as a means of rapid transit.

Locke smiled, and I turned to Jerom. "Colonel, gather a company of troops. Oh, and see if my brother's available. His fists might come in handy."

_change in s & n_

The blitz lessons were coming along nicely. Sabin hadn't yet shown me the more advanced ass-kicking moves, but one has to walk before they can run. Most of my training right now centered upon basic exercise reps and unarmed sparring. Sabin was my partner. My crotch wouldn't become an accidental target again, not that Terra meant for such to happen.

Our differing schedules didn't allow us to practice together, so most of my classes were one-on-ones. I had many things to discuss with Sabin, but a training session was never the right time. He'd ask that I spare my energy for activity, and talk when the time was right. Of course, once my session had concluded, Sabin typically left for business elsewhere, or he'd train Gau and leave me to myself.

We'd discussed Terra. Now there was a different subject on my mind. I was curious how much Sabin knew about Jrysthovuh. Was he familiar with the Ts'aosra'iy? As a man who studied the blitz for a great deal of his life, he had to know something. One thing that wouldn't stay off my mind; what did Sabin think about Pung Thoshidai?

Pung Thoshidai were figures of Jrysthovuhn legend, beings that carried with them great powers, almost forces of nature in themselves. Of course, Pung Thoshidai were totally fictitious, nothing beyond a cast in folklore. But as man who could perform Aurabolts, Air Blades, and Fire Auras, Sabin himself came pretty close to such abilities. I'd heard moogles also possessed nature-driven abilities invoked through a series of dances and meditations. I'd never seen it before, but I wouldn't put such talent past Mog and his kin.

I sat lazily on a bench in Sabin's dojo. My lesson had just finished, and Sabin looked unoccupied. Maybe now I could finally inquire about his knowledge of Jrysthovuh. "Sabin, got a moment?"

Before he could answer, there was a knock on the dojo door. "In a moment. I've a visitor." He admitted the guest. The new company was a man in decorative plate armor over dark blue fatigues, complete with thigh-length greaves and gloved gauntlets. He sported a full beard and shaggy red hair. A huge sword was slung across his back and some knives were tucked in his belt. I suddenly remembered him as Jerom Frennard, a Figaroan military Colonel. On the day when the Falcon blazed through the sky towards the ocean, Jerom called to me as his squad passed the train station, practically scooping me up from the bench and mounting me on a chocobo.

Sabin and the Colonel exchanged some words, until the former addressed me. "Leonard, if you'll excuse me for a sec."

"Sure." I watched the two men walk to the dojo's second floor.

"Well I'll be damned. Fancy meetin' you here Leonard."

The accented voice could only be that of Sarge. In less ornate armor than Jerom, the Non-Com took a seat next to me. I sat up for a more conversational posture.

"I'm glad I found ya' here." Sarge folded his hands upon the nearby table. "I've been meanin' to tell you this, but I've never seen you about."

I was thoroughly interested. Sarge didn't talk like that unless he really wanted to prove a point. "I'm all ears."

"Last month, that girl with the gorgeous hair came 'round the base lookin' for me, and askin' 'bout you. She's among the King's circle. Her name's Terra." With his accent, Sarge pronounced her name as 'TAY-ruh'.

I sat up straight. "Terra sought you out to discuss me?"

"That's right. She was askin' 'bout you and I back in Narshe. She was curious why the townsfolk ain't on your side."

I'd expected her to question my unpopularity, but I didn't think she was so interested as to look for my old friend to discuss the matter. "What did you say?"

"I just told her a few things she already knew. She was curious why your dad was such a dickhead and all that. All I mentioned was the man's lust for financial gain at the cost of others, 16anding16g' myself, and that promotion which the brass revoked. I said 16anding' of…his great transgression."

Like any good soldier, Sarge could withhold classified information when he was asked, even when the top secrets didn't relate to military business. "What did Terra say?"

Sarge ran a finger along his chin. "She wants to help you, reach out and all. I think she's taken to you Leonard, warmin' up like hot spring. Seekin' me to discuss you, knowin' we're chums and the like. It's devotion and interest, girl style. I've seen it m'self, you know."

I shifted my position on the bench. "Is that how your two go about expressing interest in the other gender?"

Sarge laughed briefly. "Not quite, the older one's all bashful and shy, and the younger one tends to be a real klutz 'round guys, nearly 16anding16g' on her own feet in hopes of 16anding' on a guy's lap. But while they do it differently, the base feelin's all the same."

Sarge spoke of his two daughters, Julie and Angela, who'd be around Relm's age now. Though his wife Becky got custody after their divorce, Sarge still saw them for monthly visits. Sarge definitely had some insight into the female mind.

I thought this over. This made four credible perspectives to imply Terra's interest in me. Cyan was the first to mention it, as he did after apologizing for his wrongful accusations. Next came Relm, who brought it up as the reason for her lecture on women's jeans and underwear. Right after that, Sabin spoke to me about Terra's possible feelings. All three were Returners, close friends of hers. And now Sarge, my close friend and a father of two girls, mentioned the same thing, and how Terra had even discussed it with him to a degree.

"I think she likes you Leonard." Sarge's words brought me back to the present.

"Of course." I stated. The image in my head was becoming more defined and clear.

"I hate to…evict you Leonard, but I must leave for some business." It was Sabin. He and Jerom came down from the upper level. Talking about Jrysthovuh would have to wait yet again.

"Not a problem." I stood with Sarge, and we followed Sabin and Jerom out the doors, which Sabin locked up as we left. A carriage was parked outside the dojo, and the three men boarded.

"Think 'bout what I told you." Sarge gave me some last words before pulling the carriage door closed. The driver spurred the chocobos, and the cab departed for its business in question.

Terra really was interested in me. But at the same time, there were things about myself that I wished to forget, some of which Terra and her friends had already learned. Yet, none of it had been my fault. It was the doing of some piece of rat shit I once called 'father'. Still, it wasn't a subject I'd simply bring up out of nowhere.

But I knew this much; I had to speak with Terra again. That thought stayed with me all they way to the evening.

_change in s & n_

Fondanin's port was untouched by the Zozoans. Our ship docked with no trouble. I'd radioed the local government, so they knew to expect me and a company. I didn't mention my private friendship with Yves, but merely said that two of my close friends were visiting and got caught in the attack. The locals provided transit, including a specialized carriage for me, my brother, and Locke. Some things were still functioning like normal.

But as we reach the downtown district, everything changed. Trees had been set ablaze, statutes knocked from their pedestals, windows broken, and shops looted. It was much like the aftermath of some natural disaster like an earthquake or cyclone.

But this was no natural disaster. The bodies of a few gigai lay amid the trashed streets. Cleaning up the carcasses was a lesser priority at the moment. Establishing order was the greatest objective. Celes had been right; Fondanin was now under martial law.

I sank into grim thoughts as we passed more samples of destruction and mayhem. Such vindication was certainly in Zozo's motives, but it was beyond their means, until now. The goons never struck me as intelligent, but maybe I'd underestimated them. To carry out such criminal enterprises for decades like they did, Zozoan thugs needed some level of intelligence, leadership, and organization. My hopeful side was arguing that Zozo goons had dreamed of this for many years, and their ambitions finally exploded. But the timing was something else. My rational side argued this was too precise for coincidence.

Screams from outside the wagon got my attention. A woman sobbed while a soldier embraced her in consolation. Before them, a few men were loading some tarp-covered objects onto a flat car wagon, neatly stacking them in order. They were bodies on their way to the morgue.

Coincidental or not, I didn't wish such havoc upon Fondanin and Jidoor. I didn't exactly trust or admire the wealth-driven country, but they were no replacement for Gestahl's Empire. They didn't deserve this. Yves DuParme was a good man. He didn't deserve this. Jidoor had now experienced grief comparable to what other towns suffered under the Empire. And it took place during the Winter Solstice, thrusting the holiday season into a sorrowful atmosphere. If anything good were to come of this, I hoped the old Jidooran mindset—evict the poor to eliminate crime—would be shattered, and the rich nation would learn that currency wasn't everything.

Our carriage reached its destination, a military base in a secured neighborhood not far from downtown. Amid local Fondanite soldiers were some troops from the capital. I recognized their uniform insignias. The collection of local, capital, and visiting Figaroan troops cleared the way, allowing us three Returners a clear path up the wide front stairs.

Atop those stairs were Celes and Relm. I requested that local troops permit them here. Relm practically jumped onto my brother while Celes grabbed Locke in an embrace of gratitude. Each woman hugged the other man, then both turned their affections to me. While patting Relm, I thanked Celes for doing what Charise and I had asked, ensuring Relm's well-being.

The greetings were cut short. We had business to acknowledge here. Zozo had to be dealt with. There was a large briefing room in the center of the base, and we headed for it. Outside the meeting chamber, a young local soldier guarded the doors. When her eyes locked with mine, she broke into a girly smile fit for a person ten years younger. "King Edgar of Figaro! I must say, your presence instills confidence in this time of need."

"Yes, that is why I've come, to an extent. I also have business questions." I kept a straight face, without being too casual. "Is there any word on the fate of Lord Yves DuParme, a local government representative?"

The young women ceased smiling. "I'm sorry King Edgar, but I cannot disclose such details to those who aren't allied with our nation."

Though she told me nothing, I took it as optimistic news. There'd be no point in withholding the truth if Yves were dead. For now, it was enough.

"Thank you soldier. You do your job well." I commended the Private and left her to her post, joining my friends and the top Fondanite brass.

Locke and Celes sat next to each other, as I expected. Relm was allowed admittance to this meeting. My being her surely gave her such a privilege. She sat between Sabin and me. As the last of the officers from Jidoor and Figaro took their seats, a man wearing Major's bars took the microphone stand. "Good evening ladies and gentlemen of Jidoor, and of Figaro. I personally want to thank King Edgar for aiding us in this dark time. And on a dark note, I'd like a moment of silence before we start. The deaths of Jacques and Maria Nalvier have affected us all." So the Major-General and his wife had been killed in the attack.

The Major got down to business. No arrests could be made. Even when surrounded and out-numbered, the Zozoan crooks fought to the death. There was no one to interrogate, no surviving thugs to question on what happened in Zozo.

The brass was talking of a new strategy.

_change in s & n_

Now came the moment of truth.

The surviving goons had returned to Zozo. I was in the slum's industrial park eavesdropping on some. Would they remain unified, or go back to their old slug-fests?

Two goons in studded vests were laughing with each other. Crouched behind a dumpster, I wondered how these street punks would act when they believed no outside eyes were watching. The sun had already set behind the mountains to the west. The shades of dusk combined with the overcast sky provided much shadowy cover.

"Now that their army's weak, their assets are ours for the taking," gloated the first leather stud as he leaned against the wall of some abandoned plant. He took a drink from a bottle.

The second goon laughed. "Yeah, now we can take charge here. Their leadership wasn't the only one lost today. Them baggy bitches are headless too."

Without warning, an axe blade reached around the building corner and swung itself into goon one's windpipe. The man dropped his bottle, which shattered on the ground moments before his severed head and decapitated corpse followed suit.

"Screw you druggie trash. We still have intelligence. Buck trained some replacements, should his death become a reality." Goon one's killer proudly swung his weapon of choice. Not surprisingly, he wore baggy pants.

Leather stud goon two reached behind him and grabbed a club, deflecting a strike from the baggy-pants axe-bearer.

"Did I miss anything Ajalni? I've found nothing but goon corpses."

It was Dyal'xern. He eyed the fighting locals. The baggy had knocked the leather stud to the ground and was preparing a fatal thrust, only to get kicked in the knee by his downed rival. He staggered and fell. "Just a little action. I'm sure you've seen better elsewhere."

"Looks like Ruqojjen's presentation on loyalty has already been forgotten." Dyal'xern shrugged. "I'm not really surprised."

"So now it's cleanup time?" I watched as the baggy slammed his axe handle into the leather stud's face, landing a perfect stun blow. As the leather-clad goon swayed about, the baggy raised his weapon and swung down hard, splitting his rival's head down to eye level.

"Of course." Dyal'xern snapped his fingers and grinned in his usual egotistic fashion. "We reward the survivors personally."

The victorious baggy didn't get to savor his accomplishment very long. Dyal'xern confronted him with a stylized insult. "Some folks just aren't worth the hairs which grow from their ass cracks." His hand became blurry. "You're one of them."

The local stared with wide eyes and a slack jaw. Dyal'xern swung his hand forward as though he were tossing a boomerang, except he was tossing something else, another air pressure wave.

The blur hit the bandit square in his stomach. He screamed and fell backwards, doubled over. The axe fell from his grasp.

I joined Dyal'xern as he strode over to the wounded crook and kicked the axe aside. "Bu-but…I thought you were on our side," gasped the baggy as he sat up and clutched his bleeding midsection.

"We were, until you gave us a reason not to be." Dyal'xern told it like it was. "You're no different than your wealthy enemies." The Pung Thoshidei lifted his right foot—blur included—and swung a roundhouse into the local's temple. As the crook reeled from the impact, Dyal'xern recoiled his leg in a reverse hook kick, striking the man's other temple. With both sides of his forehead bashed in and bleeding, the dead thug toppled over.

Loud cackling from around the plant got our attention. Somebody was having a good time.

In a shipping yard of the abandoned factory were two goons from the leather stud gang. The bodies of baggy-clad enemies lay around them. A woman in a long tan dress sat bound and gagged between the two gangsters. Her attire was out of place here. She wasn't a local, but a Fondanite captive.

One of the goons was a generic leather stud. The other was Jasper, the leather stud kingpin. "With baggy Buck dead and gone, there's no more competition. Zozo is all ours. Soon we'll pillage Fondanin, Jidoor, and expand." Jasper rattled off his ambitions.

"Yeah," agreed his wingman. "Buck had his lip rings ripped out and his arm torn off. Too bad I wasn't there to see it happen. But seeing the results is good enough." Buck's gory death was no loss, but the garbage wasn't completely disposed of yet.

Jasper's minion subdued the captive woman against the pavement "Who goes first, you or me?"

"I do. I'm the brains here." Jasper reached for the woman's legs and tore off her dress.

The goons' disloyalty was preferable to _this._

"Who slays this bunch, you or me?" I asked Dyal'xern.

"Neither. This bunch in mine."

It was Ruqojjen. He must've heard Jasper's gloats too. The whole slum could've heard the crime boss's declarations. Dyal'xern and I stepped back, letting the Nyufalng leader deal with this one.

The High Shenthaxa charged Jasper with blinding speed, leaping into the air with a pop-up front kick and sending the crime lord flying into a large packing crate which splintered on impact. Ruqojjen's next target was the crime boss's wingman. Jasper's company was flat-palmed in the face, and a spinning reverse elbow was sent to his chin.

When the two of us joined him, Ruqojjen lifted up the dazed thug and slammed him against the intact crate pile. "There's an argument to be made for killing you enemies without mercy. There's also one to be made for taking their assets as your own upon killing them. But…no argument can be made for this." He glanced down at the bound, captured woman.

"But you told us this raid would benefit us greatly." Blood squirted from the wingman's nose and lip. "Why scold us for it?"

"Because your post-raid actions have proven you're no different than them." The Shenthaxa pointed at the woman before looking down at the leather stud's exposed chest. Ruqojjen's fingers gripped a metallic ring in the goon's nipple. "Did it hurt when you got this? If so, that will pale in comparison to…" He let his fingers do the talking. With a yank, the nipple ring was forcefully removed. A spurt of blood and a scream were the results.

"That's gotta hurt," Dyal'xern mumbled next to me.

"So? It's well-earned." Was there any consequence too extreme for a rapist, other than rape itself?

A shimmering field of energy engulfed the Shenthaxa's fist. He dealt a punch into the goon's face, accompanied by more brilliant lighting effects upon connection. The crook's head deformed inwards, and the lifeless body was tossed aside.

The bound woman was Ruqojjen's next subject of interest. He placed his booted foot upon her stomach and knelt down. "I am not a rapist, but nor am I your savior. I don't trust your country, and I don't trust you." He raised his hand and flat-palmed the woman as he'd done to the leather stud. His hand moved with lightning speed as he dealt more blows, until her face was flattened into a mass of bloodied pulp.

It didn't feel odd. The rich bitch was an enemy. Death was her fate. Yet even so, certain acts were never acceptable, even against those who deserved a bloody demise. We Nyufalng had standards, and even when minimal, we had every intention of keeping them, lest we become like those who'd destroy the Divine. The woman died…un-raped and un-violated.

As his underling and would-be victim bit the dust, Jasper the gang the lord groaned among the scattered crate splinters. I presumed the Nyufalng chief would issue the execution, but Ruqojjen just looked at me. "Ajalni, Jasper's yours."

My tongue lanced out and wrapped itself around Jasper's neck, tight as a hangman's noose. While he gawked and gagged, I shaped the end segment into some bone spikes and squeezed. The spikes did their job, piercing the lead thug's neck at many angles. When Jasper's head toppled from his shoulders, I withdrew my spiked tongue.

Ruqojjen issued some directives into his gauntlet radio. "Captain. They broke the truce. Dispose of any stragglers and leave the bodies, as proof of their renewed conflict. When you're finished, return to the ship." After getting a response, he shut off the radio. "There's no point in staying here any longer." He scanned the bodies of feuding thugs and the Fondanite hostage. "Our job here is done."

"Yay. This town's a dump anyhow." I was happy to leave it behind.

The three of us headed back to the airship we'd parked in the mountains along Zozo's northern outskirts. Since we'd parked it, a small blanket of snow had fallen, something expected at this altitude during the Winter Solstice. Military flight crew members were scraping ice off the windows. A Captain approached us. "Sir, all criminals were neutralized as you ordered."

"Thank you Captain. I'm sure they did most of the extermination for you. How goes the flight preparations?"

"A-okay sir. All we're waiting for is the scout squad to return from the lookout point."

"Excellent. Tell the piloting staff to prepare for departure." The Captain nodded at his latest order before heading into the cargo vessel. "Dyal'xern, Ajalni. We've done well. A power monger has been weakened by its long-time enemies, whom we later discovered were no different. We dealt with them accordingly, thus disposing of two enemies at once. I'd say this week-long excursion was more than worth it." There was a high level of pride in Ruqojjen's voice, one more suited to the ever-arrogant Dyal'xern.

The Air-smasher was just as boastful. "We kicked ass, sort of. We let them do their own leg work, and we whooped the victors…Nyufalng style!"

"Yeah, _sort of_. Don't get so cocky as to take all the credit," I couldn't resist piping in. We laughed. Even Dyal'xern couldn't keep a straight face, despite the joke being mildly at his expense.

As the humor passed, I saw the scouting team coming down the trail to the lookout point. Time to kiss Zozo good-bye.

But something wasn't right. The first scout who approached didn't look well. He looked nervous. "Sir, you won't believe this but…" He was silent.

Ruqojjen addressed him. "Yes? If there's something I should know, spit it out."

The scout swallowed nervously. "I think you should see it for yourselves."

We followed the confused scout team up to the lookout point, a spot on the mountain that overlooked Zozo, and all south beyond the slum town. I didn't see anything to merit discomfort, but I wasn't carrying the spy glass. The dazed scout offered Ruqojjen his telescope. "Sir, this is what meant."

The High Shenthaxa took the spy glass and surveyed the area below. "Huh? How'd they organize this so quickly?" He observed a bit more, and his lip curled. "No way. _How!_"

"What?" Dyal'xern asked. Ruqojjen offered him the spy glass, and the Air-smasher focused on the disturbing sight…whatever it was. "Fuck me Flora. What are _they_ doing here?"

As Dyal'xern invoked the name of his favorite call girl, the suspense was getting to me. "What is it?"

Dyal'xern mumbled some vulgarities before handing me the telescope. I put it to my eye and took a peek…and understood why the others were so bewildered. "Oh fuck." I was ready to let loose more curses from every known language, from the SSD, to old Jyrsthovuhn, to its modern day incarnation. Our celebratory moment had just gone straight to hell, but that was the least of our concerns.

"What the hell's going on?" Dyal'xern questioned to no one in particular. "There was no link, no connection. The Moihzadu was certain of it."

None of us doubted the Moihzadu's word. His experience counted greatly. But I remembered that his experience wasn't quite up-to-date. "With all due respect, the Moihzadu's had no contact with them for a good couple of years. Who knows what they've built and attained in that time."

I gave the telescope back to the High Shenthaxa, who gave the distant abnormality one final glance. He folded the scope and returned it to the scout squad leader. "Abort the take-off," he ordered. "Keep the ship grounded and out of sight. It is clear we don't fully know our enemies as we once thought." Two scouts departed to echo the order.

Dyal'xern and I exchanged puzzled looks. None of us had anticipated this turn of events. Yes, there are times when not everything goes according to plan, but this was beyond a simple unforeseen trial. We'd miscalculated somewhere, but where, and how?

Finally, the scout squad leader broke the silence. "Sir, I have an idea."

_change in s & n_

I heard a saying once. I don't remember who coined the phrase, but it went like this; unless you have inside connections or plans to discuss business, do not enter Zozo's urban jungle with anything less than a top-notch platoon. Now that we lacked the magicite stones granted to us by the dying espers, a military unit was the next best choice.

We had one, and if it wasn't top-notch, I was no reformed Imperial General. Our company was a fully-mounted cavalry. Troops of both Fondanin and Figaro surrounded us. Figaro's dark blue flag, with its magnificent silver and yellow crest adorned with green dragons, waved proudly next to the yellow and black banner of Fondanin. Most Fondanite military stayed in town with troops from the capital, helping re-establish order. This counter-raid wouldn't have been possible without the visiting company from Figaro.

Edgar was back at Fondanin's army command center with their top brass. Relm stayed behind with him. She wasn't eager for any more action. Locke and Sabin rode alongside me, and Jerom Frennard rode ahead a few yards, speaking with Fondanite officers.

Zozo was fast approaching. The skies above the town of slime and crime were always cloudy. The expansive fog rarely let up, even when the acrid rain wasn't pouring from it. They were natural cloud formations, though they never lifted from the city where crime did pay. It was very symbolic.

"What do you expect we'll find here?" Sabin glanced at the town of corruption before us.

"I don't know for sure, but having been here in the past, I don't expect a friendly hello. This cav is prepared for conflict." I noted the exposed frames of half-finished buildings that lined Zozo's outskirts. "They may throw a gigas our way, or try ambushing us on a deserted street."

"Whatever we encounter, we'd better get some answers." Locke pulled his mount along side ours.

With no detained goons to question, Edgar and the Fondanite brass agreed that a counter-raid on Zozo was the best option. I still wore my lightweight armor vest that I'd put on earlier in the day, and Locke and Sabin had light armor of their own. We were armed for bare as well. I carried my trusty Strato blade, Locke had some large daggers, and Sabin wore his regular spiked knuckles. The Figaroan soldiers carried some of Edgar's best battle inventions, everything from auto-crossbows to motorized drill-pikes to the tripod-mounted lightning cannons. Jerom and the leading Fondanin officers also carried another Figaro-born invention, some scope-like scanners, which could determine if people were close by in hiding. Their range was limited, but they'd warn us if goons or a gigas lay in wait.

The Colonel looked at the half-demolished buildings through his scope before signaling us to head inside the slum. No welcoming committee…yet.

Crossbows were drawn, and the ringing if metal spoke of melee arms at the ready. A cannon crew was setting the lightning blaster's tripod up on a chocobo-driven flat cart. Though we were prepared to inflict casualties upon the gigai, the mission objective was to take bandits alive. Non-lethal injuries were preferred.

It was disturbingly quiet as we rode down a major street. Boarded up windows and toppled street lights were common here. It was logical that a bandit gang had turned one of the condemned buildings into their hideout. We approached with caution, but the scanners picked up no signs of life. Our party moved on.

Around the corner, we found more of the same, large buildings that served a tactical advantage but were instead completely vacant. "What's going on?" Locke whispered. "We should've encountered a whole neighborhood's worth of street shit by now."

Sabin cracked his knuckles in some preparation for a blitz move. "If they expected us, we'd have scanned them at the entry. If they didn't, they'd be out and about. What gives?"

Jerom led us down the current road. As we progressed, the lighting got worse. Fewer streetlamps were functioning, and those that worked still weren't bright enough to illuminate much. The crossbows had built-in flashers, but Jerom ordered them kept off. I figured he'd order them activated if this lighting pattern kept up. The street was becoming steadily darker.

The road finally ended in a cul-de-sac. Rundown houses and apartment complexes were our current surroundings, a Zozoan residential district, or the ruins thereof. There was one functioning lamp pole here. I could see little but the outlines of the buildings' roofs against the dark, murky sky. I suspected each trashy home and apartment was void of gang members, but I didn't assume anything.

And the Colonel wasn't taking any chances. He scanned the housing complexes for any sings of life. Suddenly, he stopped at one position. It was too dark for any of us to make out the details, but Jerom kept his scope on that particular area. He raised his hand, giving a specific signal; he'd found someone. Just one person—he'd raised one finger—but that was someone we could question.

He raised a hand again and gestured for some nearby troops to take positions a few yards ahead. Bow-gunners pointed at the spot in question, a dark apartment building wall.

The bow-gunners flashed on their lights at the Colonel's order, lighting the area better than any streetlight we'd seen here. With much anticipation, Locke, Sabin, and I rode to the front line with weapons ready.

"Don't move, or we'll open fire." Jerom's voice was all business. Some troopers had arranged themselves in flanks to the left and right, cutting off the mystery local's chance to escape from the sides. The wall behind him or her was solid, and its only windows were on the second and third floors, quite out of reach. There was no sewage access hatch nearby, or else they'd have used it. This individual had no place to run.

"Don't shoot," came a panicked male voice from the center of illumination. Whoever he was, this man was crouched behind a dead bush.

"Lift up your hands and slowly step out from behind that planter," Jerom ordered. Shooters kept their aim steady, and lancers held their pole arms unwaveringly on the man's location. I gripped my sword even harder. While the man didn't seem threatening, Zozo was anything but trustworthy.

Slowly, the mystery man stood up and walked out from his hiding place. As he did so, he shielded his eyes from the light beams fixed upon him. I could now see him in lush detail.

The man was husky, with wide shoulders and a few extra pounds in the gut. He did not wear the attire of any major street gang. Instead, he was clad in ripped trousers, one leg torn off just below the knee. Socks covered his feet, but he wore no shoes. His shirt could hardly be called such. It was more like a rag that hung from his shoulders. Suspenders, one loop torn and dangling loose, held up his pants. His arms and feet were covered in dark stains, and similar streaks lined his face.

"Who is he?" Sabin asked. "He doesn't look like a gangster."

Interestingly, the man had that same question for us. "Wh-who are you?" His voice was shaky.

Jerom ordered the bow-gunners to dim their flash beams. The lights were reduced without deactivation. The stranger lowered his hands and gazed at us through disoriented brown eyes. When his gaze fell upon the Colonel, Jerom answered. "We're a military unit from Fondanin with some Figaro company."

The shocked man lowered his hands. "Thank Goddesses," he exclaimed. "I thought you were gathered bandits."

"And we also thought you belonged to the said party," Locke offered. "Sometimes, being wrong feels great."

The shooters and lancers lowered their weapons with Jerom's at-ease signal. This man was the only present local, as the scopes hadn't picked up any others, and he was clearly non-threatening. In fact, he was glad for our presence.

As the flanks of mounted troops kept watch, Jerom dismounted and walked up to the man. "Who are you?" His voice had softened.

"I've been a hostage here for the past couple days."

"You were captured by the bandits?" Sabin questioned. Everything about this man's appearance and behavior was falling into place.

"Yes." As he replied, the stranger looked in our direction. I thought he was going to faint. Instead, a wide grin formed on his dirtied face. "Hey, aren't you Sabin Rene, Prince of Figaro and brother of King Edgar Roni?"

"Captivity hasn't dulled your perception." Sabin rode his mount over to the man. Locke and I did the same, sensing that a strong presence of Returners would put this guy at ease. As we rode up he noticed us, smiling more brightly. "Locke Cole, and General Celes Chere."

"Former General," I corrected him. He nodded, remembering that I no longer had any Imperial affiliation.

"Am I glad to see you." The man swayed on his feet, until Jerom lent him a hand to stay upright. "I thought you might've been additional bandits looking to finish me off. I so believed their use for me was done."

"Use for you?" Locke questioned. "What happened, and since you already know us, what's your name?"

The man took a deep breath as Jerom steadied him. "Joseph, Joseph D'Isla. All my friends call me Joe."

"Always a pleasure to meet an idolizer," Sabin remarked. "Tell us about this capture you endured."

Joe took a seat on the planter he'd crouched behind moments before. "I don't know exactly how it started. One minute I'm walking down a street in Fondanin, and I feel a sharp pain in my skull. Everything goes black. The next minute I'm in a dank room, bound with rope and accompanied by some real nasty men and women. They asked me all these questions."

"What kind of questions?" I asked softly. Whatever Joe had experienced, it was traumatic. I couldn't blame him for shying away.

But shying away was not on his mind. "They asked me about the specifics on the military promo festival, who was where, and when, and all that. When I couldn't answer something, they beat me senseless." Joe pulled his tattered shirt back. A large purple oval was stamped onto his chest. "I had to make stuff up so the beatings would cease."

I listened to Joe's story. If he'd been captured and held in Zozo, maybe he could tell us something about how the gangs cooperated.

Jerom spoke up, addressing the present objective. "We've seen no criminals since we entered. Do you know of any place around here where they might've established a base of operations?"

Joe ran his fingers through his unkempt, short dark hair. "Of course you didn't see any of those creeps. You won't believe what happened earlier, when they returned from their raid on Fondanin."

"After hearing of their sudden unity, I'll believe just about anything," Sabin quipped.

Joe took a deep breath. "The gangs went back to fighting with each other."

Locke shook his head. "Heh. I'll believe that any day, from anyone. It's this strange unity I can't believe."

Jerom took a seat next to Joe. "How do you know all this?"

"I saw it. The beatings had weakened the ropes which bound me, and I was able to peek through a ground-level window and espy the gangs resuming their old lifestyle." Joe massaged his hands as he spoke. "At that point I made a run for it, hoping the thugs who'd been guarding me all day were occupied, if not dead. I punched out the window and climbed through, avoiding the feuding goons. I came across dozens of dead thugs on my way here."

"So that's it? This gang truce was temporary?" I asked. I couldn't imagine the gangs would go to such lengths to attack Fondanin and each other without planning future crime sprees. Zozo could still pose a threat.

"I hope that's the case, but I don't know for sure. If one gang trashed the other, who knows what the winner's planning next," said Joe. "Nothing good, that's for sure."

I looked at Jerom, at Locke, at Sabin. This counter-raid hadn't gone quite as planned, but we still managed to find someone who could shed some light on this abnormal Zozo alliance, brief as it was.

"Joe started shivering. The man needed rest, food, and medical attention. And he wouldn't be getting any of that in this criminal shit house.

Jerom practically read my mind. "We should get you back home. You must have a family in town."

I expected a surge of emotional at the mention of his family, but Joe remained passive. "Well…I don't have any family in Fondanin, and I really don't have a home there either. I'm a merchant from Quildern, who lived alone. When I heard Fondanin had a greater market for my products, I chose to relocate and bought a house there." Joe looked off in the distance behind our team. "I planned on selling my wares at a vending stall during the festival, so I chose this time in particular to sell my old place. I was staying at a hotel, waiting for escrow to close so I could move into the new place, but…" Joe paused uncomfortably. "But I guess real estate's not Fondanin's priority right now."

"Funny that you mention Quildern." Locke pointed at himself and me. "We live there."

"Whoa! What a small world." Joe started to laugh, but instead coughed, clutching the bruise on his chest.

"You know, if you lived in Quildern, that would put you in the Figaroan Monarchy," Sabin explained. "I think my brother would like to meet with you. You've got a story to tell."

"You mean, I could meet King Edgar in person?" Joe's voice was less ecstatic. He didn't want to aggravate his battered chest again.

Sabin nodded. "After what you've experienced, he'll definitely want to speak with you, as will any Fondanite top brass."

"Congratulations, for surviving." Locke commended Joe.

"Thanks, but…I'm not that resilient," the jewel merchant said hesitantly. "I survived because of luck. I thought they'd kill me before setting off on the much-talked-about raid."

"Were there any others kidnapped?" Jerom asked of the man from Quildern.

Joe shook his head. "Not ones you can question. I found some dead people who weren't clad in gang attire. I presume they were slain hostages. Why I'm not among them is inexplicable, but I won't question good fortune. Gratitude for it is enough."

Jerom stood and returned to his chocobo. He mounted and took out a hand radio. "King Edgar. We found no living gang members, but we did find a man who claims he'd been their hostage just before the attack. We're coming back with him." The radio crackled as Edgar responded.

"Can you mount and ride?" Sabin asked of Joe. "I'll share my mount for the return to Fondanin."

Joe nodded. Sabin pulled his bird up against the planter, which Joe used as a stool. Shakily, and with help from Sabin, Joe took a seat behind the younger Figaro. When the merchant was firmly seated, Jerom gave the order to move out.

We didn't backtrack upon the same route we used in entering. Instead, we took a different route. Along the way, we found many dead crooks, some killed by a single blow, others inflicted with zealous overkill. A grizzly sight to be sure, but one that made logical sense. It fit with the nature of Zozo's gangs, unlike their brief but effective cooperation.

As our cavalry departed Zozo, I gazed ahead, where Sabin and Joe shared a mount in front of me. The Quildernite gem peddler held a key to this latest mystery. How significant was that key?


	17. Words From the Soul

_Considering a few questions I got I the last chapter's reviews, I will provide answers. First, the Nyufalng are not against prostitution per se. They oppose sexual slavery, but voluntary prostitution is not an issue for them. This was discussed in detail in ch15._

_Regarding what motive Jrysthovuh has for attacking or setting up attacks, I must point out that Jrysthovuh is not attacking anyone. The Nyufalng do not represent their homeland, as Ruqojjen, Yithadri, and co. have badmouthed its ruling Council on various occasions. As for the Nyufalng's actual motive, that has yet to be disclosed..._

**Chapter 17: Words from the Soul**

We sat in the dojo, as my lesson for the day had concluded. "And Celes bit the man's finger, prompting me to do such to my captor." Relm's hands darted about wildly as she went over how she and Celes escaped an ambush on the parade two days back. "We escaped, and Celes stabbed my captor in the privates…..that had to hurt." She looked down and paused briefly. "Anyways, we mounted a chocobo, but her captor wasn't dead. He grabbed a pulley on the ride gear as we sped off, but we passed a light pole and slammed the motherfucker into it, ripping off his arm in the process."

Had we not known Relm for as long as we did, her words would've been lost in the verbalization, she spoke so fast and lively. The average person would mistake her chatter for a hyped-up squirrel, but Gau, Sabin, and myself knew her well enough to understand her mile-a-minute bragging.

When she settled down after describing their return to Yves DuParme's manor, Relm leaned back against Gau. Talk of our contact in Fondanin had me curious about his fate. "How's Yves?"

"I…don't know, Terra," Relm sighed. "Edgar inquired about him, but the army wasn't spilling any details. Maybe that means he's alive in some way. Edgar said there'd be no point in keeping a secret otherwise. We know the Major-General died. The troops announced it."

"I see." I looked across the table at Sabin. "What about this guy you and the company found in Zozo?"

The blitz master sat up. "Joe? He was beaten and held captive by the gang members. They kidnapped him for info, some of which he didn't have. Edgar's scheduled an inquiry this evening, where Joe will tell his full story.

"Yes, that sounds reasonable. He'd set one up for Leonard to discuss the Shedairah killings," I recalled.

"Speaking of Leonard, I got him to confess." Relm sported a sly grin, one that bordered on mischievous.

"Confess to what?" I asked. Relm's grin was entertaining, but very unclear. She was speaking in riddles again.

The Thamasan girl leaned forward and placed her hands on the table. "You're gonna love this Terra. I got him to confess that he likes you."

"Confess?" I burst out laughing. "Relm, you make it sound like he's conducting illegal activities in his basement. 'Confess' is hardly the operative term."

Relm blinked. "Oh…right. But we need to have fun here and there."

"So how exactly did you get this 'confession'?" Sabin asked as he contained his chuckling.

"Well, I showed him a women's clothing catalog, and said that if you ever want to shop for new attire, you'd want a new opinion." Relm pointed at me. "Then I hinted how that new trusted viewpoint could be his."

"Uh-huh." I was getting curious. "And what did he say in response."

"He didn't think you'd ever ask, but I told him to prepare for it in case you did. He knows that if he turns you down he'll have _me_ to deal with. So I just asked if he liked you, and he came clean."

Relm certainly had a unique way of doing things. "I hope you didn't humiliate the poor guy too much in the process."

The girl raised and lowered her eyebrows. "I think he enjoyed the experience. Maybe it's because _I'm_ the one who showed him all the new info. But what I did is not the point. He admitted to liking you. What do you think of that? Do you return the favor?"

"We've gone over such already," Sabin remarked. "Relm, you're hardly treading on unexplored soil. But your thoughts still count." He patted her shoulder before turning to Gau. "Ready?" Gau stood, kissed Relm, and walked out to the dojo's training yard. "I'll leave the girl talk to you both." Sabin followed Gau, leaving Relm and me.

"What was Sabin talking about? How am I not treading unexplored ground?" Relm sounded more curious than crestfallen.

"Oh. Well, I've talked about Leonard with him, Edgar, and Celes. I even found Rodney Hayne at the army command center and discussed Leonard with him. If he's seen Leonard, the ex-minor certainly would know about our chat."

"If you've been talking about the guy with so many people, than you must like him." Relm clapped and pointed at me. "I knew it."

I laughed. "So now I've 'confessed' too?"

"No, I didn't mean it like that," Relm said with her hands raised in mock defense. "But if you're beginning to develop this connection, you should spend time with him. You know, like a one-on-one."

Relm had something there, though her suggestion of how to pull it off was not the best…right now. "You're right, but not in a girly store." I gave her an awkward, half serious look.

"Aww, you're not fun. My big sis should be more open to original play, but oh well. As long as you and he understand each other, that's what counts." She glanced at her bracelet watch. "I need to get going, but I'll see you later tonight at this Inquiry. Sabin mentioned it to Leonard yesterday, so he knows, and he'll be there." Relm stood and walked over to hug me before turning to the dojo room's corner. "Interceptor, come!" The dog, who'd curled up for a nap, awoke and trotted after Relm as she exited the training room.

A one-on-one with Leonard. The more I pondered it, the more I wondered how it would play out. Our conversations during the train rides didn't really count in my opinion. I wanted something more substantial, set up for that very purpose. How would he like it on his end? He never struck me as shy so much as skeptical. If he knew I was interested, maybe that would open him up. While a women's store was hardly the best place to achieve this, Relm's imagination could certainly conjure up some unique, innovative possibilities.

_change in s & n_

Returners, Figaro troops, and visiting Fondanite brass were filing into my conference chamber and taking seats. I gave the attendees a glance from the archive room's doorway before addressing my only company in the back room. "Are you ready to do this Joe?"

Joe D'Isla didn't hesitate. "Absolutely. You've no idea how much I've wanted to meet you and your close friends in person."

Two days of R&R did wonders for Joe. When the military unit returned to Fondanin with him, he was a disheveled, shivering mess. Upon learning that he lived in Quildern before relocating, I knew he was to be treated as one of my own subjects. With his old place sold and his new place on suspended escrow thanks to the ambush, Joe needed a place to stay and regain his bearings. I selected one of the castle's guest rooms.

In all honesty, I didn't think he'd recover this fast. That bruise on his chest was a wound in of itself without the psychological trauma he certainly endured. But he was a fast healer, mentally and physically. I gave him due credit for that.

I grabbed a reel from the shelf. "It's always a pleasure to meet a fan or two." The last of the attendees had taken their seats, and the guards shut the doors. "C'mon. They're waiting for you."

Joe followed me into the conference chamber and took a seat next to the recording device. I fit the tape reel into the receivers and sat down between Joe and one of my guests. Since this attack went down in Fondanin, a visiting Fondanite General had his own share of questions. He sat with Joe and me at the front table.

I scanned the room's occupants. Cyan was in the front row, along with the Chancellor, my wife, my brother, and Colonel Frennard. Further back I spotted various Returners and friends. Relm sat with Gau, Locke with Celes, and interestingly, Terra and Leonard were sitting next to each other—about damn time for that. I'd have observed them longer were this not a business meeting. More Figaro and Fondanin military staff filled the seats in the back rows.

All eyes were on me, the General, and Joe. I activated the recorder and placed a mic on the table. "Good evening. As you all know, a military promotional parade in Fondanin was attacked by feuding Zozo gangs a couple days ago. The man to my right was living in Quildern until recently, when he moved to Fondanin. For the record tell us your name and occupation."

Joe inhaled tensely. Maybe he was a bit intimidated with public speaking, and this particular audience wasn't typically addressed by an everyman like Joe. He seemed a bit uneasy being the center of these military officials' attention. Or maybe he just wasn't happy to rehash his ordeal in Zozo. But he was all business, and did not give in to stage fright. "My name is Joseph D'Isla, and I was a jewelry peddler. I decided to relocate because I heard there was a greater demand for my wares, and chose this time in particular so I could partake in the festival's market. And then…all this happened."

I let him take a breather before asking," How did your ordeal begin?"

"I was walking on a city street when I felt pain and lost consciousness. I awoke in a room accompanied by these individuals, who I deduced were gang members. I heard stories about them, but never had any run-ins until then."

According to Joe, the goons asked him questions on the parade's structure and organization. He didn't recall the specific questions, though he certainly recalled knowing very few of the answers. He was beaten when he didn't answer a question to the crooks' liking, hence the chest bruise. He said they used a heavy rock.

"How did they interact with each other during this time?" The visiting General asked his first question.

Joe could only shake his head. "Held in that basement, I didn't see or hear much. I don't think I saw any rivals actively behaving like partners, but restrained in the basement, I saw heard little of their plans and methods. I drifted in and out sleep while held captive. My only food consisted of edibles fished from the trash can. They kept me alive by feeding me their table scraps."

It was a dead end. The General went on. "Was anyone else kidnapped?"

"I was held alone in my location. The gangs never made references to other potential hostages. They only addressed me to ask questions, and held conversations out of my earshot. I did see the bodies of non-gang members during my escape, so if there were other kidnap victims, they were most likely slain."

"How did you escape?" asked the General.

"When I heard the sounds of conflict, I gathered that a fight had broken out between the gang members. I was right. My binds were loosened and broken from all the beatings, and I could see gangs fighting through a window. At that point, I punched it out and made a run for it, wandering the city and finding dozens of dead gang members until encountering the military."

So the gangs went back to their old lifestyle in the end. The truce had been a charade, maybe orchestrated by one gang to fool the other, or maybe they'd both planned it and bought each others' bullshit long enough to attack the parade and cripple Fondanin's army. That still did nothing to explain how they cooperated in the first place. Two feuding groups buying into a shared lie seemed too simplistic for the whole story.

The inquiry proceeded. While Joe was a decent speaker, his story didn't provide any more answers to the questions of what happened between the gangs. And what was going on now in the present? When Joe finished, I asked a key question, not to the merchant but to the General. "What have your parties seen in their own searches?"

The General eyed his staff in the seats before answering. "We found hundreds of bodies yesterday, according to the reports. Most of them were gang members, but we did find a couple of missing persons from our town. The bodies were so numerous that wolves and vultures from the mountains had come down to feast. The stench of decay was that potent. We questioned a few Zozoans who bore no gang affiliation, but they're also in the dark on this matter. We've seen nothing to suggest further activity on the criminals' parts."

This merely confirmed what Joe had already told us. While it clearly indicated that both gangs had suffered catastrophic losses in manpower, it didn't eliminate the prospect of future plans. If there were any remaining thugs from the winning side, they were surely plotting something, another raid most likely. Sooner or later they'd put their idea into practice.

Unfortunately, we'd hit another dead end for the moment. Joe couldn't provide us with anymore details, and the military recon groups didn't uncover anything in their scouting patrols. To continue this inquiry would be a waste of time. "I see. Nonetheless, it can't hurt to keep an eye open should any activity stir up in Zozo. We've done all we can for now." I stood and shut off the recorder. "Ladies, gentlemen, thank you for coming. This inquiry has concluded."

The General stood and joined his company, who bid me farewell as they filed out the doors. Joe thanked me for center stage and walked off. He was probably going to bed early, as he'd slept a lot during the last two days. He was eager to meet the rest of my circle, and I assured him he'd get the chance to personally acquaint himself with each of them.

For my part, I picked up the tape reel and headed into the back storage room to file away the recording. As I cleared a shelf, I heard a voice off to my side. "So now you admit him to these classified meetings?"

Though not a shout, the voice was clearly irate at something, and someone. I looked up from the shelf, surprised at who'd joined me in the large filing closet. "Arvis. I didn't see you here earlier." I smiled.

But my friendly greeting was hardly returned. The Narshean Senator walked over to me with his arms folded. "Yes Edgar. Bigger things have gone over your head, and not just tonight."

I placed the tape reel in a slot and addressed the Senator. "Arvis, what are you getting at?"

"I'm talking about how you let him into these private meets when general law-abiding citizen are prohibited." He pointed angrily at the outside conference chamber.

"Who?" I asked. "Who are you talking about?"

"Who do you think?" growled Arvis. "I'm referring to that scum Leonard Gurosawn."

I tensed for a moment. Arvis hadn't forgotten about the chance encounter in his office when Leonard had accompanied us. Had he forgotten my words from back then? "Arvis, I already covered this with you. What Julus Gurosawn did is hardly the fault of his youngest son. Don't blame Leonard for the actions of his father."

Arvis clenched his teeth. "By the same token, don't be so quick to presume Leonard is different. A fallen apple doesn't always land far from its tree, and Darum Gurosawn followed closely in his old man's footsteps. Why should Leonard be much different than his older brother?"

"Because Leonard hated his father. Even now, about four years after the man's death, Leonard still bad-mouths him. It's clear he's ashamed and disgusted to bear any relation the man. If you listened to his own words, you'd notice this."

It was the simple truth. What did Arvis have to counter it? Maybe now he'd understand.

"Edgar, as we just learned from the feud among Zozoans, there's no honor among the corrupt. Hating the guts of his father doesn't automatically make Leonard any different. Maybe his father hogged all the gold and glory, which Leonard wanted a piece of."

Damn. Arvis wasn't budging an inch. The older man had persistence and tenacity. I gave him that. Sadly, such perseverance was greatly misdirected.

Suddenly, I realized that Arvis hadn't attended the inquiry when Leonard told of the Shedairah attack. As a non-military official, Arvis wasn't required to attend such meetings. His presence at this inquiry on Zozo was surprising. I tried a different strategy. "Arvis, it was Leonard who gave a report on the Shedairah attack, which he survived. His story of a monster attack seemed strange, and when no evidence of such was found, his story seemed to fall apart. Yes, Locke and Cyan formulated a theory that Leonard was behind it, one which Gau also endorsed. But, despite his reluctance, Leonard agreed to join a search party at the base to see what really happened. After a run-in with some gigantic turtle, they brought back the evidence of new beasts. Cyan and Locke dropped their accusations, and Gau stayed silent on the matter." I folded my arms, confident that my point would be heard and comprehended. "Leonard spoke the truth, and aided the recon team in their search. His actions hardly reek of dishonesty."

For a moment, Arvis looked off at the high wall, its shelf packed with files and reels. At last his contemptuous eyes returned to mine. "Okay, so he didn't attack the base and kill its people. So what? Quentir Braslino and Major Bozwensc died in that attack, and they were hardly honest. Innocence in the massacre still won't clear Leonard of everything." Arvis stared me down and took a deep breath. "You really don't know that much about their history. It's obviously lost on you."

By now, my patience was starting to spread thin. I rolled my eyes at Arvis, returning his dirty look. "Excuse me. Need I remind you, I'm the Monarch of a highly-advanced nation? I am one of this world's most highly-educated people. I'm the King of Figaro, and you presume I'm ignorant of this subject in question?"

Arvis adjusted his bifocals. "Edgar, you're a young King, only thirty-one years of age. I'm fifty-seven. Two decades ago, when you and your brother played with toy rapiers and used shipping crates as 'watchtowers', I worked on a respected board of share-holders who invested great sums in a Narshean mining company."

This was getting ridiculous. Where was Arvis going? His latest remark did nothing for my strained patience. "Two decades ago? Leonard couldn't have been much older than four. He was probably learning his ABC's for the very first time."

"I'm serious Edgar!" Arvis snapped impulsively. His patience was also failing. "Two decades back, the mining business was among Narshe's best at the time. Its variety of quality products kept us in the affluent class. But guess what happened. Julus Gurosawn wanted in on the profit, so badly that he ripped us off to get it. Predictably, he bought out our parent corporation and ran our business into the ground. The mining company lasted for decades, and in a span of months we'd lost so much in finances, we got forced into bankruptcy. Julus Gurosawn pillaged an honest company to its demise for his own entertainment, and that was among his lesser crimes." Arvis waved his fist around, but somehow managed to avoid punching the nearby shelves. "He got rich, while me and the other share-holders got a taste of lower class trials. I went from investor to hotel housekeeper overnight, literally. After that, I could barely afford to keep up. My marriage went to hell, my kids lost respect for me, and soon they all split from Narshe. I lived alone for the next five years, trying to pick myself up from where Gurosawn and his buddies had thrown me. Around that time, I came to know your father more personally. I worked for him, until he died."

As Arvis finished recalling his story, he looked at me so intensely that I wondered if he was trying to look _through_ me. He lowered his voice. "Your father would be horrified if learned of this kid-gloves treatment you've given Leonard."

"HOW DARE YOU!" I didn't just snap, I nearly shouted. Arvis's presumptuous comment about my father struck a nerve. Even if it was unintentional, he was hardly apologetic. He shook his head, as if I still didn't understand anything. "My father would NEVER be ashamed of my tolerance and giving someone a fair chance!"

Arvis backed away, but slowly. Now he was the more patient of us. I was the one who'd just lost it. "Edgar, when Leonard stabs you and your friends in the back, don't say I didn't warn you." The Senator was all but whispering. When I said nothing, he turned and walked toward the door, but stopped to look over his shoulder and provide some final words. "Be glad that we're close friends who back a ways. Were that not so, I'd have exposed your spoiling of Leonard back when I first realized how much you've done to make his life comfy. But keep this in mind; what will the Narshean Office think when they learn that King Edgar and his Returners are close friends with the betrayer's offspring?"

My eyebrow was twitching. I felt the growing temptation to reach down for the nearby stepstool and throw it at our Narshean contact. But I forced the impulse down. I'd already snapped once, and even a single outburst was one too many. I simply gritted my teeth as Arvis bid me a sarcastic goodnight before storming out of the filing room.

Taking some deep breaths calmed me down. I leaned upon the filing shelf and reflected on the ugly truth of social prejudices. They didn't discriminate in those who embraced them. Arvis's contempt was far out of his usual character. Ideally, a Senator from a modernized city-state like Narshe wouldn't even be the last person to hold such unwavering dislike, putting it mildly. Yet reality was harsh. Even the greatest of upstanding individuals had blind spots.

"Honey? What was that all about?"

Unlike Arvis's, this voice was soft, the complete opposite. I looked at the doorway to find Charise staring at me with a puzzled look. "I heard you shout something, and Arvis stomped out from back here."

I placed a hand on her shoulder. "Arvis doesn't trust our new friend Leonard. His judgment of the young man is based purely on Leonard's family background, which is hardly of his own making."

"So depressing," moaned Charise with shake of her head. "Why can't people be more accepting and less eager to cast out others as black sheep?"

Though a flirtatious playgirl and sexual livewire, Charise wasn't void of empathy and understanding. She knew firsthand how menacing societal prejudices could be. She saw in me light and virtue, while most of her fellow Vardiggans, including her own relatives, saw hideous darkness, manifested (as they believed) in a two-faced, dishonest politician. Had I not slaughtered Kefka, the Vastelle family would never have spared me a second afterthought, much less a chance with their beautiful Charise.

My wife banished her frown and looked up, a less negative expression on her face. "Leonard is the guy who Terra saved, and she's had her eyes on him ever since, right?"

I nodded, happy that she'd changed to a much brighter subject. "Yes, and I think she's beginning to realize it. He ought to know it as well. Relm, Celes, and my brother would never let it slip past him."

Charise reached underneath my coat. I could feel her hands pressing on the cleft of my ass. "I think there's love in the air. Like wildflowers, when romance takes hold, nothing can stop its growth."

I ran my finger along her breasts. "No darling, it's weeds that spread out of control if unchecked for too long. You're from a nation where gardening is an art. You should be telling me this."

"Oh you." She withdrew a hand from my buttocks and gently flicked my forehead. "You know what I mean."

"Of course I do. And I believe Terra and Leonard can learn so much from each other."

"Maybe you should step in and bring them closer. After all, what kind of King allows love to go unnoticed." Charise's finger was tracing ovular patterns upon the zipper of my slacks. "Why should they not share the greatest pleasure in which you and I indulge?"

"I'll consider it, but for right now I'll think about dinner. I'm hungry."

"If you say so." Arms around each other, we left the archive room en route for the dining hall. I tried thinking positive thoughts. Charise had a knack for encouraging that. Her optimism helped me overlook Arvis's hostility for a while.

_change in s_

By the next day, both Arvis's distrust of Leonard and Terra's interest in him were in the recesses of my mind. It was back to business.

The Reservoir Guild began their next task, digging trenches around the southern water purifiers so new pipe lines could be set. There was another business matter at hand too.

It was the middle of the Winter Solstice, and holiday trading was commonplace. Many shops were peddling merchandise that wasn't sold during any other time of year. Naturally, the commerce halls in my castle were a hot spot for business. And with the business demands of labor, there were additional openings for work.

Joe D'Isla was back on his feet now. The jewelry merchant expressed enthusiasm in returning to his trade and passion. As luck would have it, a jewel vendor in the commerce halls requested an extra hand. I knew just the person for the job.

After only ten minutes of observing Joe, I could tell he possessed extensive knowledge of stones and minerals. And while he was more apt at selling the jewels, he did have a talent for cutting and shaping them. And if a certain cut was beyond his knowledge, he could make recommendations.

Before introducing him to the castle's jewel merchant, I conducted another inquiry with Joe, one of a different nature. I knew he wasn't from Fondanin, so I wasn't surprised to learn he barely knew anybody in the Jidooran city-state. People like Yves DuParme and the late Jacques Nalvier were out of his league. I asked about his family, and his answer was short; they had perished in the great collapse. I didn't press. Additionally, Joe had no children, and he said that his girlfriend Sandrina had dumped him several months back, fed up with his workaholic lifestyle. As he put it, he was too unavailable for her liking. I left the man to pursue his favorite relationship, that with his business and customers. I planned to check up on him periodically, or have other Returners do so if I was preoccupied.

Currently, both Charise and I were preoccupied. While a rich, hearty red clam chowder was this day's lunch specialty, we couldn't fully concentrate on the hearty meal. We both had documents to look over. Charise was reading a packet full of details on receiving tax money in regards to the plumbing expansion's next phase. I held a report from the weaponry department. The military was upgrading the current model of lightning cannon, improving it so the firing mechanism could be held down longer without the risk of overheating and exploding. The new version wasn't yet produced in the factories, but signs of that soon happening looked good.

As I finished reading the weapons report, the sound of footsteps was approaching. I looked up and saw Terra. "Good day Terra. Have you come to join us for lunch?"

"No, I'm eating with someone else. That's what I came here to talk about." Though not sharing our soup meal, the young woman pulled out a chair at the dining table and took a seat across from us.

"Really?" Charise asked, grabbing her napkin and wiping red soup droplets from her lips. "Who's your company?"

Terra folded her hands and looked at us both intently, giving an answer that perfectly explained the ambitious resolve in her emerald green eyes. "I'm going to eat lunch with Leonard."

Charise's turquoise eyes glittered with an excitement equal to the half-esper's. "Dear, you mean a lunch date? That's wonderful."

"And long overdue," I put in. "We started wondering if I should step in and give one of you a friendly nudge." I referred to the conversation I had with my wife the previous evening.

"How sweet of you, but that won't be necessary." Terra pointed at the documents spread before Charise and I. "Besides, you've both got business to deal with right now."

Charise reached over and placed her hand on Terra's. "I'm just glad you're giving fate a nudge in the right direction. I hope this goes well for you both."

"Of course it will. If it ends in disaster, Leonard will be answering to _me._" I pointed at myself with my left thumb. "Terra, Leonard will have a wonderful date with you…or else his buttocks will have an agonizing date with my Aura Lance."

This brought out laughter. "Oh Edgar, it's quite un-kingly for you to make threats like that," Terra said through her giggles.

I ginned smugly. "It's not a threat, it's a promise, a promise that you'll enjoy this date with Leonard as long as I sit upon the throne of Figaro."

"Well yes, but I think Relm will get to Leonard much faster if things end on a sour note. But I doubt Leonard plans on letting me down. He approached me with the idea right before Joe's inquiry. It was his plan initially."

I took another spoonful of chowder. "So he's finally getting the hint. Since that's the case, don't disappoint him."

"I won't. That's a promise too." Terra glanced down at her bracelet watch. "I should be going. His lesson with Sabin will be over soon, and I don't plan on missing the next train. I'll see you around." She stood and left dining room.

Once she disappeared through the doorway, my wife leaned against me. "They can learn so much from each other, and now they will."

I reached for the bottle and filled my drinking chalice with more ginger ale. "I can only imagine want kind of couple they'll make, an interesting one to say the least."

As much as I wanted to envision the romantic potential between the half-esper and the Narshean outcast, there were still matters of business. The report on the lightning gun enhancements was but one of them. I still hated being a King from time to time.

But such responsibilities rested upon Charise and myself, not Leonard and Terra. If my wearing the crown gave them free time to indulge, so be it. The time had come for Terra to know what love was, in a new perspective.

As for Leonard, he needed something different, and while it wasn't a woman per se, it would be more special if coming from a woman, even more so from one as special as Terra.

_change in s & n_

Sabin's claws came down, as my hand-axe swung upwards to parry his blow. The weapons impacted with each other, and I stepped back diagonally, taking a more defensive posture. "Well done," Sabin announced. "You've gotten the timing down on that evasive maneuver."

I twirled the axe in my hand. "How about trying the counter hit?"

"Enthusiastic, but no. Look." Sabin pointed at the clock on the far wall. "Terra will hate us both if I delay you."

"Wow, time flies." I placed the hand-axe in the weaponry shelf. "But you're right. I have an appointment."

No sooner had I replaced the axe did Sabin was all but escort me outside. "So hustle! Keep that appointment."

I was out the door. Once again, the ever-prolonged discussion of Jrysthovuhn culture was placed on the back burner. This time however, it was worth yet another delay. I had an important date to keep, literally.

Of all the times I'd waited for the train, never had I felt so restless. I'd waited for it many times in my travels amid and between Narshe and Figaro City, and now minutes almost stretched into hours. Fortunately, only my perception was off; the train arrived right on schedule. Ten minutes never lasted so long.

I sat and watched the town whiz by through the window. A lengthy residential district came first, followed by the castle. At this point, the southbound train started curving to the west. Normally, this was my stop, as it was mere blocks from the farm. Today though, I remained in my seat as the train curved northwest through the Figaroan capital.

Finally, the train pulled into a stop not far into the city's western district. It was here that I would meet her. Terra mentioned a unique restaurant in this section of town, and I was all for it since I'd never heard of the place.

I stepped off and the train resumed it westbound route minutes later. The previous evening, I scribbled walking directions from the train stop to the diner on a note card. They were vague directions, for Terra explained that this particular diner was hard to overlook. I started walking.

And it stood out. Ghearn's Coop was a glorified farm house, at least on the outside. The walls and roof tiles were a dark brownish-red, and the roof was steeped with a weather vane on top. Over the front entrance was a wide gray awning, and above that on the roof was a pale yellow sign with plain black letters that read **Ghearn's Coop**. 'Coop' was a fitting term, as place was a respected poultry house.

However, the real feature that begged for attention was not part of the architecture. On the pathway leading to the front door stood a person wearing a chicken costume. This costume was hardly a real-life representation. It was a caricature right out of a newspaper cartoon. The beak face sported a goofy smile on a head at least twice the size of the wearer's underneath. The costume was much like those animal mascots that paraded around track and field athletic competitions, or strode around carnivals handing out balloons and candy to children. The owners of the place knew how effective a mascot could be. I had to admit, I was sold on the idea. The cartoon chicken could not be overlooked, and demanded a reaction from onlookers. My reaction was to laugh.

The mascot continued waving to pedestrians and pointing to the diner entrance as I passed. I felt a little cheated that he or she didn't acknowledge my presence with a back pat or handshake, though a handshake was maybe a tad difficult with those oversized mitten hands. I entered the front door and observed the waiting room. No sooner did I glance left did I see someone else waving, though not a person wearing any mascot costume. This person wore a short red dress, similar boots, pink leggings, a purple sweater, and a ruby studded necklace. She also wore a jeweled ribbon in her hair, which was a unique shade of celery green.

She approached me…but kept her hands to herself, no welcome hug, no offer to hold hands. Did it mean anything? Did she feel awkward? True, she'd known me for all of a couple months, but what difference did that make? "Hello Leonard. You made it."

"Yeah, and this place was easy to find thanks to that mascot. At least your greeting was more personal. That chicken character just generically waves to anyone who passes."

Terra shrugged and laughed. "That's what he or she gets paid to do, grab your attention. Personal interaction is beyond his or her requirements."

"So the mascot doesn't pose for photo ops. What a letdown," I groaned sarcastically. "But at least we're here." As I spoke, a young man came over to show us a table. Naturally I chose a window seat, for the scenic view. From Terra's vibrant expression, she was thinking along similar lines.

Typically, when I thought of a poultry house, I'd think of a steakhouse motif. That image was typically of some wooden barn, minimally touched up to function like a diner. Ghearn's Coop was much more though. The floor had an indigo carpet, the chairs were padded with leather seats and backs, stained glass coverings were fixed to the suspended lamps, and a few oil paintings hung from the walls. The walls themselves were clad in wallpaper patterned with an ivory backdrop behind some flocked, pale blue starburst shapes. The place also had its own bar, in a separate room from the main dining area. In a nutshell, it was casual yet fancy, several notches above its farmhouse-like exterior.

We took seats across from each other, at a table covered by a tan cloth with a full condiment set placed in the middle. A pair of menus had been laid out with the utensils. I opened mine for a glance at the Coop's entrees. Though white meat was its specialty, Ghearn's offered a variety of red meats and seafood too. We both agreed upon breaded cheese sticks for the starter. They were decent, though hardly the Coop's focus.

I finished a cheese stick and felt the urge to discuss food with Terra, but she had conversation plans of her own, and her topic choice was far more spectacular. "You know Leonard. I've been meaning to tell you this. Now that we're together, it's the perfect time to discuss the more obscure side of espers."

I swallowed a mouthful of water from my drinking glass. The last time Terra talked about espers with me, she clammed up and changed the subject more than once. She said there was more than the obvious, but never put that aspect into words. This time thought, her words sounded more fluid. The discomfort which hampered her that time was no longer an issue. "The more obscure side? Okay, that's something else I don't know about. Educate me."

She took a sip from her own glass before starting. "Leonard, to the average person like yourself, it's expected that you'd see espers as nothing but demons that spread chaos and calamity for their own destructive ambitions. The War of the Magi was precisely that, as you certainly know. But while that is true, it is not the truth in full."

Now I was getting interested. "So what is the complete truth?"

She took another drink. "Espers had a side which often contradicted their notorious lust for power and conquest. A side that desired peace and freedom, neither of which was granted to them, as humans were lusting for magical powers."

I grabbed another cheese stick and bit off the tip. "How did you learn all this?"

"The many espers we encountered in our journey against the Empire and Kefka. The espers were dying from the tortures inflicted on them in captivity, so they granted us their power to stop their oppressors and prevent another global cataclysm. Though we failed to stop such, the espers still had that goal to reach for, and entrusted us to do what we could. Planetary destruction was not their intent."

"Really?" I said in awe. Terra's eyes glowed with a radiance of truth. I could tell she wasn't making this up. And while this revelation was a surprise, it was hardly surprising that such facts were lost on me. You either join the Returners or live a dull life. I still didn't consider myself one. I was comfortable with being a mere associate, dull life or not. "So espers are kinda like humans, they differed from each other in outlooks and viewpoints."

One last cheese stick was on the plate. I let Terra claim it, as a token of appreciation for being 'enlightened' by her. "Yes, that's right. And it's quite ironic. I heard from many of the espers how they could never coexist with human beings. Humans craved the powers that espers possessed at birth. Despite their peaceful goals, they were targets of human greed, and used as tools of human aggression. Thus, a societal coexistence was impossible."

I finally had some commentary, though less profound than Terra's tale. "You'll get no doubts from me there. Mankind is often both the most intelligent and most primitive species simultaneously." Had circumstances been different, my father, brother, and the Braslinos would've have harnessed and abused esper powers for their show of wealth and status. As it happened, they sort of did…indirectly.

"As a result, the espers built their own world in a separate dimension, where lusting humans could not follow," Terra continued. "The dimension was sealed by an interstellar gate that couldn't be activated by human means. All was prosperous and tranquil for the esper world. But one day, the seal between the worlds weakened. Imperials soon learned of this rift and raided the esper village. This is how Gestahl's magitek war machine began. Espers were enslaved as a means for the Empire to enslave its fellow humankind."

As Terra elaborated on this history lesson, the server appeared with our lunch orders, placing our respective meals before us. Terra ordered baby back pork ribs covered in a sweet plum sauce with some roasted prawns on the side. I ordered one of the Coop's fortes, roasted duck seasoned with parsley and a side dish of mashed potatoes in gravy. And no meal is complete without a tall, ice cold mug of root beer. The server brought two. Additionally, Ghearn's didn't charge on refills.

All this listening put my stomach on high impatience. I took a drink of root beer and a spoonful of potatoes on sub-conscious instinct. "So esper and human alike were enslaved." This had me thinking of a different subject. Terra once mentioned how the Imperials exploited her through the use of a slave crown. "You were one of those people. I recall your talk of a mind-control crown. What did they enslave you for?"

_change in n_

I paused in the midst of biting a pork rib. Had Leonard just…no…he couldn't have made the connection this quickly. Mentioning the enslavement of both espers and myself didn't tip him off to my ancestry, did it?

I was still holding off on dropping the major bombshell. Learning about espers was one thing, learning that a close acquaintance had esper blood was something else completely. Besides, Leonard had been enlightened enough already. Any more revelations like this might cause his head to spin.

I swallowed my pork bite and simplified the truth. "I had some…talents which they coveted. You're quite right about humans often being worse than animals. Don't forget that Kefka Palazzo had once been human."

Leonard bit into his duck meat. "Animals can control emotions. Humans fall to their emotions way too frequently. Like this one particular time I got slammed by the Narshean public for an act that I myself oppose. I didn't do shit. It was my brother's deed."

"Your brother framed you for his action so you'd get the blame?" I asked, going for the most likely scenario.

"Not exactly. It's a bit more complex than that." He finished the leg and was now cutting into the wing. I waited for him to elaborate but he didn't. He just kept cutting and eating his roasted lunch. It looked as if he'd come to the I've-said-enough point that I'd reached minutes earlier, so I didn't pry. I just continued on my pork and reflected how we'd both revealed yet also withheld our respective secrets.

A silence lingered between us. I thought Leonard would pick a topic and chat away, but he just alternated between his soda and duck meat. Clearly he liked the food. I felt the same way regarding my pork in sweet sauce. There was a discussion subject, the Coop's food. I glanced up as Leonard was grazing happily, and noticed something that had slipped my mind for the most part.

When I first saw him collapsed on the mountain trail, Leonard was wearing that strange symbol on his neck chain. And he still had it. That unique pendant still hung from his necklace. Clearly it held some value for him, but what was it? What did it mean, if anything? Was it a talisman that warded off misfortune, a personal good luck charm, or something along those lines? The icon was completely unfamiliar. The best I could describe it was a circle that enclosed a pair of intertwining hexagons, and even that felt incomplete.

As I bit into another pork rib, I looked at the symbol hanging around Leonard's neck. It was a stretch, but certainly it would make for an interesting discussion. I was about to swallow my latest bite and inquire, but Leonard had chat ideas of his own. "How's the rest of your group doing?"

It sounded more interesting than discussing his necklace piece. "I saw Gau and Relm yesterday before Joe told his story. They're doing well. I also stopped by to see Edgar and Charise earlier, to inform them about this meeting between us. They both wished me luck, and trusted you to treat me special."

"It's well-placed trust." Leonard grinned while cutting into the duck breast, having finished the wing. "And they surely trust you'd do the same for me. Since you chose this place, I'll tell them you came through. As for Sabin, he was also quite enthusiastic about our meet-up. Once this morning's lesson finished, he was ushering me out his dojo with mock force, so I wouldn't be late."

"And Relm was certainly interested in the two of us spending time together," I put in while nibbling a prawn. Leonard mumbled something at the mention of Relm's name. Certainly her loud mouth spared him nothing on that women's clothing lecture. I got the impression he didn't fully approve of joining me while shopping. I couldn't blame him. What did he know about women's fashion? His specialties were minerals, machinery, weapons, and more recently, dairy cows. Bras, panties, and nightgowns were probably more unknown to him than my esper lineage, and that was still a secret. But I could only wonder if Leonard had some opinion of a woman's looks. Did he think I was pretty, maybe even cute but not in a little girl way? A man has, at the very least, an opinion of how his female love interest looks and dresses? What was Leonard's opinion?

That question was left unanswered for the time being. The Narshean stirred his mashed potatoes into a swirl before lifting up a spoonful. "Sarge…I mean Rodney…also came by the dojo, saying you had a chat with him."

I swallowed more prawns and drank more root beer. "Yes, I know who Sarge really is. And you'd better tell him that we finally had this lunch meeting." I had this urge to say something playful, as this was a casual outing and I wanted to loosen up from the 'educational' vibe. "If you don't, he'll court martial you for inattentive negligence."

His jaw dropped, and he paused in the midst of spooning up more potatoes. "I'm not a soldier, I'm exempt from that, remember?"

"But you're not exempt from punishment via Relm," I added teasingly, letting him know that I wasn't fully serious. Though not my wish, the idea image of Relm disciplining Leonard by swatting his ass with a boat oar caused me to smirk discretely. I could imagine Leonard actually _preferring_ such treatment over joining me in a women's clothing store.

"I'll be sure to inform both Relm and Sarge that you and I met for lunch and had a wonderful time." Leonard spoke like he was swearing an oath, or mock oath. He chuckled before scooping up another wad of mashed potatoes. I cleared the last remaining prawns form the saucer and polished off the rest of my drink. Leonard finished scraping the potatoes from the cup before asking, "Care for dessert?"

I shook my head. "No I'm full. This was a filling meal to say the least." I hadn't lost track of time, but a glance at my watch revealed that I had to get moving very quickly. "Besides, I have a babysitting appointment later on. It's the first time I've met this family. That's partly why I chose this place for lunch. It's on the way to the house where I'm going."

"In that case, you should split right now." He sat back and took another drink.

I stood and offered to pay the tab, but Leonard wasn't so keen on that idea. I insisted by saying, "I'm the one who selected this restaurant. It's logical that I pay for the meal."

I reached for the purse on my belt, but Leonard's hand was on top of the flap. "Terra, _I_ _insist_. You have somewhere to be, and I feel like having a caramel sundae. Besides, I have the money. I brought some extra currency, as I wasn't sure of this Coop's prices. I can afford both our shares. Remember, I'm the wealthy Narshean."

I blinked. It was my turn to let my jaw drop. "Huh? As I recall, you're father didn't leave you any inheritance."

"He didn't. But no one could stop me from claiming the fortune, and I hate seeing valuable resources go to waste. That and such large sums of money should not be in the wrong hands."

"Your resourcefulness wins again." I smiled and glanced at the door. "Leonard, thank you for coming. I really enjoyed this. We'll have to do it again soon. I'll see you around."

We said our good-byes and I left the man to his dessert order. Outside, the chicken mascot was still waving to people coming and going, though he or she was now under the front awning. Some drizzle had fallen during our lunch. Light rain was common here in the desert capital during the winter. It was the only time of year that Figaro City received rainfall, and it was nothing compared to the hailstorms and snowfall that other regions got year-round.

The train approached moments after I arrived at the stop. I took a seat, en route for the new sitting job. As drizzle pelted the train windows, I sank into positive thoughts.

A date, a real date! I'd just experienced one with Leonard, and while he was still a mystery in ways my fellow Returners were not, I had gained a deeper understanding of Narshe's outcast, and he'd gained a deeper understanding about the lesser known facts regarding esper pacifism. It was a minor aspect, but it was still a truth I was glad to share.

But aside from the discussion topics, I had spent some time with Leonard, time of quality and meaning, time set aside for the purpose of getting to know each other in a relaxed setting. _A date_. That term kept repeating in my head. Technically, I couldn't say it was a _romantic_ date, but it certainly could set the groundwork for one later on.

And not too much later. I had plans on meeting Leonard again soon. As I was leaving Ghearn's Coop, he expressed equal enthusiasm. We were on the same track.

_Is this another side of love, romantic love that couples share? Locke and Celes have it, as do Charise and Edgar. _My mind was consumed with this new possibility. Maybe I was learning how vast love could be. Discovering it in Mobliz was hardly the emotion in full.

The train stopped in a residential neighborhood. I was expected here. The household awaiting me was around a single street corner. I left the train as its doors slid open, allowing myself one last thought on the subject of love before concentrating on the immediate task.

I had taught Leonard a few things, and even if he didn't realize it, he could do the same for me. It appeared as if he and I could…complete each other.

_change in s & n_

The snow continued falling, piling more icy buildup on the tall, leaded windows of Albrook's palace.

The southern continent was experiencing a winter blizzard. On the day we returned, a full two and a half hours behind schedule, it was hailing. Just days later, the frozen rain had become a full-on snowfall. And most of the storm's wind fronts were centered elsewhere, mostly in the continent's midpoint. The snow here is Albrook was a mere fraction of the blizzard's wrath.

I stared out the window before me, down at the city streets below. Lamps were on all over, but they were blurry from this distance. The snow laid down a blanket of fog throughout Albrook.

Chithagu sat next to me, his front legs placed on the window sill, not unlike a curious kitten. His tail twitched, but he was largely inattentive to anything beyond the falling snow outside. "Snowy," he rasped, illustrating that his attention span hadn't wandered. He pressed his face against the window as close as his long snout would allow him, completely mesmerized by the weather. Small minds are entertained by small things, so they say. For my part, I'd long since gotten bored of counting snowflakes. I looked around the chamber, listening to the discussion that at hand.

During our excursion in Zozo, Yithadri had taken command in Ruqojjen's absence. The High Shenthaxa was now detailing a packet of recon data which Yithadri and some scouting patrols compiled since our departure. After glancing at the report packet and mumbling a few words, the Nyufalng chief glanced up at the second-in-command. "So that's it? No activity on either end?"

"This snowstorm is battering the plains to the north." Yithadri gestured at a map on the wall behind her. "The area of greatest intensity is to the southwest of Tzen. Most of the skirmishes were around that upland region. The blizzard has, no pun intended, stopped the war efforts cold on both sides." It was a play on words that brought a grin to the Honored Shamaness's lips.

"So the Tzenish and Marandan military forces are now frozen dead in the hills?" I asked, contributing what little I could to the discussion.

"Appealing, but not quite." Yithadri shook her head. "Both groups have pulled out from that region. The blizzard has taken numbers from both sides, but they're not down and out quite yet. Reports have both armies retreating to the nearest shelter."

Ruqojjen scanned the packet again before laying the documents down in the table in a neat stack. "What are they doing now?"

"Unfortunately, we don't really know. The blizzard's ferocity has also kept us at bay, and going on aerial recon high above the clouds didn't yield and findings." Yithadri ran her finger over the map, in the location where Tzen and Maranda had been fighting, until recent. "But they're both surely planning their next moves, and will take action once the blizzard subsides."

"And the stalemate carries on," I commented. In deep thought, Ruqojjen leaned back in his chair and glanced up at the chandelier above. As he gazed up in pontification, he drummed his fingers on the vuork-hiylsh in his belt.

A product of Jrysthovuhn innovation and creativity from an age long before the present ruling Council (who used and abused it for their own bossy means), the vuork-hiylsh was a substantial offering of versatile deadliness. It boasted two states, each of which had two specialized uses. Typically, it was carried in closed from. In this state, it was a short but solid clubbing weapon with a spike on one tip for more lethal thrusting attacks. However, it could also be switched to open form. The bludgeoning rod could separate in half, the ends connected by a sturdy wire. This allowed for longer reach, more speed, and a lot more flexibility. Additionally, the wire connecting the club halves was of the proper density and thickness to slash a person's throat, if not take off their head completely. Club and short pike or nun-chuck and garrote, the vuork-hiylsh was a formable arsenal by itself, a masterful helping of four weapons in one.

His hand was on the weapon combination, but his thoughts were still on Albrook. "What's new with Uletarsji?"

Uletarsji! That world-class fuck-up whom Ruqojjen had nearly executed moments before we departed. I frowned at the mention of his name, and from the way Yithadri cringed, her thoughts were very much like my own. "He's still locked away in confinement. I figured it best to just keep him there and repeat your orders until you returned. His 'pet' companion Chiupanghow was also confined in a separate cell." Yithadri's voice didn't betray the disgust implied by her dirty look.

When Dyal'xern and I overheard Ruqojjen chew out Uletarsji in the aero-dome, we both kept our mouths shut. Our focus was on leaving for Zozo, and even during the excursion, neither of us brought the subject up. But now that he'd just mentioned the fuck-up by name, I felt less obliged to hold my curiosity under wraps. "Why don't you just dispose of him? Incompetence that great is the liability of liabilities."

Ruqojjen eyed me. "Had I not been so preoccupied with leaving that moment, I probably would've done just that."

Yithadri straightened out the orange sash tied around her waist. "Baokiydu and Sdalsyra were hell bent on such, as were most of the jailors I addressed. I heard Qaurjaeda express interest in the idea once, and I could entertain the idea myself, but as per your directives, Uletrasji's still alive. With bitching aplenty, the directive's been followed."

Ruqojjen pulled the vuork-hiylsh from his belt and twirled it slowly in his hand, rotating the weapon in its club/spike state. "He wants them dead just as much as we do, but his rage and lust for vengeance got the better of him. He was only tasked with gathering data, but added some personal touches that weren't authorized. Luckily, they managed to avert what he tried creating. For now, Uletarsji and Chiupanghow will be kept in suspense. I'm more curious about the special catch."

"Him?" Yithadri asked. "He's half conscious most of the time. He doesn't move much, so I replaced his weighted shackles with standard wrist and ankle binds. Also, the dungeon gets cold this time of year. I had the prison staff provide him with a mattress and quilt. He'll be useless should he die of hypothermia."

What use did this special prisoner have for the Nyufalng? It was something strategic and, unlike Uletarsji, practical. But I still had no idea what Ruqojjen and Yithadri planned on doing with this 'special catch'. Thinking about, I had no idea if Ruqojjen had shared his plans with Yithadri at all. The Honored Shamaness was simply quoting him. She gave no indication of understanding the Shenthaxa's grand plan.

"Despite the halt imposed by the snowstorm, Tzen and Maranda are certainly reinforcing themselves and planning their next move for when the time is right. Our enemies will not stop their efforts during this holiday season, and we won't either." Ruqojjen looked at both Yithadri and I. "It's time we attempted those upgraded creations we've been talking about. This blizzard-made intermission is the perfect time."

Yithadri nodded. "Yes. There are some enhancements I've been considering. It's of utmost necessity that our arsenal be at its deadliest, especially when considering this new unpredictability factor you just encountered." She folded her arms. "I saw Dyal'xern in the town square yesterday and asked him about your trip to Zozo. He said it went better than expected until moments before your departure, at which point everything got fucked to hell thrice over. I asked the Moihzadu about any potential connection, but he was confused like the rest of us."

"Yes, this unforeseen turn is surely going to set us back, but we can work around it, I'm sure," Ruqojjen pointed out. "I presume Dyal'xern also told you about how I'm dealing with this surprising turn of events."

"He certainly did. I trust Tanrevilt will be in contact and brief us when necessary. We'll take that one step at a time. For now, we should focus on putting Tzen and Maranda in some early graves. For the creation enhancements, I'll survey the dungeon occupants to determine who'll be donors at soonest possible chance. Right now I have business to acknowledge." Yithadri said good-bye and departed our company. Chithagu, who'd been totally absent from the conversation, also turned and walked out. Maybe he'd gotten bored of watching snow accumulate on the window sill, or maybe he was en route to his shitting box. He was smart enough to realize that indoors, unlike outdoors, wasn't his go-anywhere lavatory.

The High Shenthaxa stood, stretched and opened the vuork-hiylsh to its nun-chuck/garrote state. With masterful skill, he swung the weapon horizontally in a full circle, reaching to the side and behind himself with one hand, then reaching back to grab the weapon with the other and swing it forward again. I could never get the hang of using nun-chuck weapons. I usually wound up slapping myself in the face or chest when I tried them out.

The weapons master continued his 360's with the nun-chucks, while I kept my thoughts on his plan to deal with the setback we'd encountered. "Do you really think Morris can pull it off?"

"Ajalni, it was Morris's idea." He stopped his full circle motions and changed the pattern, juggling the nun-chucks between his hands while carving wide-angle, sideways figure eights in the air. The weapon's tips blurred and made swoosh noises as they swung about. "Of course he'll come through. He's done it before. He'll prevail again."

"But this is much different than standard recon missions. It's far more dangerous."

Ruqojjen walked over to me and placed and hand on my shoulder. "Your concern is much appreciated. Morris would be grateful, no doubt. But there's much to be gained from this, so think of it in those terms. Let him do his part. We have ours to do right here."

How true! I should have realized that much. Clouding my mind with Morris's task would just hinder me in fulfilling my own. The High Shenthaxa was convincing. How else could he earn the trust and build the confidence of the many former slaves, disgruntled commoners, and despairing refugees who'd eventually comprise much of the Nyufalng ranks. As if to reinforce his certainty, Ruqojjen twirled the nun-chucks around his index finger, which wasn't oozing a single drop of blood despite the wire's sharpness. The man was convincing in both logic and weapons expertise.

And Morris, unlike Uletarsji, was the polar opposite of some totally inept fuck-up.

_change in s & n_

Citadel Boulevard was a wide, major street in Figaro City. It ran east to west, and while it didn't lead out of town on either end, both sides came close. It got its name because it passed Figaro Castle's south entrance. While the immediate area surrounding the castle was flat, terraced lawns, the rest of the street boasted various commercial and industrial businesses. Among them were market plazas, fine diners, hotels, factories, and even a few local landmarks.

One plaza in particular contained a hotel, diner, and visitors' center all in one. As an extra touch, the visitors' center also served pastries and other dessert-style foods. Locke and I both agreed it was the perfect place to acquaint ourselves with our new associate.

We both carried trays of snacks over to our table, where our acquaintance was seated. Joe D'Isla was lost in thought, his mind completely immersed in the day's copy of Figaro City's newspaper. He flipped a page and noticed the brownie platter before him, taking one and munching off the corner.

"And as per your request, I have this for you." Locke pulled a small packet from inside his coat and presented it to the jewelry seller.

Joe happily took the offering. "Thanks for the…guide and street map."

"For all your navigation and local interest needs," I said before taking a brownie for myself. "So, liking the capital of the Figaroan Monarchy thus far?"

The gem merchant swallowed and licked brownie crumbs from his lips. "It's magnificent. I heard loads of hype about this town, but this is the first time I've actually been here. I must say, it lives up to every single word of that hype."

"So you plan on staying?" Locke asked between croissant nibbles.

Shrugging his broad shoulders, Joe replied, "I'm not sure quite yet. I'd like to see what else this town offers. I'm sure it's pricier than what I'm used to, but if this town has what I'm looking for, the price will certainly be right."

"And what are you looking for?" I took another bite of chocolate brownie.

"Not sure of that either, but I can tell you this much. Any city with Returners close by is my kind of place." He gazed at both of us with his dark brown eyes. "I must say, I never thought I'd be eating a snack in your company. But I sure as hell didn't expect to see you when I was fleeing Zozo either. Maybe fate dealt me a lucky hand. The Zozo goons spared me so I could meet you in person."

Locke clapped his hands together. "That's the spirit, trying to see the positive in even the darkest of misfortune."

"Absolutely. Had I not been kidnapped, I never would've met you in that shit hole." He sipped his cola and gave us a profound glance. "My curiosity has grown since then. Tell me, why were Figaro military staff aiding Fondanite troops? Last I heard, King Edgar didn't have any alliance with any Jidooran city-state?"

Locke trained his eyes one me. "Cel, care to explain that one?" It seemed fitting that he would volunteer me to answer. I was the person who accompanied Relm to Fondanin, and I was present when the parade was ambushed. By the time Locke, Edgar, and Cyan learned of the attack, Relm and I were already safe in Yves's manor, thanks to me in full.

"Officially there is no alliance," I began. "You're correct on that one. But we do have friends and contacts outside Figaro. In Fondanin, we're close friends with a person of significance. He actually invited our youngest member, Relm Arrowny, to help decorate for the festival because of her artistic talents. I came along too, as I piloted the boat we used for transportation." I kept my other reasons of bodyguard and info collector to myself. I didn't learn anything about Jidoor's intentions, and whatever they might've been, they'd now taken a backseat for some indefinite period. The part as Relm's guardian would be implied at some point, so I didn't rush it.

In the midst of chewing, Joe's mouth dropped open. A piece of brownie almost rolled off his tongue. "You mean you got caught in the middle of the ambush?

I swallowed another bite. "Indeed. I actually separated from Relm to use the restroom, and as I was leaving, I heard bangs and screams. When I got outside again, several floats were burning and many onlookers had been killed, including an entire color guard. I rushed through a panicked mob and fought off a couple of those bastards before finding Relm, safely hiding in a garbage can."

"Don't forget the part when you stabbed that guy in the balls," Locke piped in, obviously proud of what I'd done, in some sickly entertained way.

"Yes, well, he tried kidnapping Relm and me, so I went for the fastest killing strike in the critical moment."

Locke pursued the gallows humor. "Sure, it was practical and of dire necessity, but I still think there were hints of loathing and rage in that thrust."

Our company was not appalled by the talk of how I killed that particular thug. Joe gave us an approving smile. If that specific goon was involved in Joe's capture, the jewel merchant would certainly have an axe to grind. "So you and Relm escaped safely. What about this contact of yours?"

The unanswered question about Yves was something I tried forcing out of my thoughts, but now that Joe had asked the looming, dreaded question, I could no longer ignore the topic. "We don't know. The military said nothing. He could be alive, dead, or in some hospitalized, injured state."

"I see." Joe bit his lips, now caked with more brownie crumbs. "So this friend of yours is the reason King Edgar brought a company of troops along?"

"You catch on quickly," Locke applauded. "We met up with military personnel and planned a counter raid on Zozo. None of the bandits were detained alive, so Fondanin's brass chose to send in a company and apprehend some thugs for questioning. Without our presence, the counterstrike would've been impossible."

"And I never would have met you. You should thank your friend…if he survived, that is."

Locke pulled the wrapping off a blueberry muffin. "Don't forget your own survival. You gave us the details about how the gangs killed each other after the raid. That counts for a lot."

Despite Locke's encouragement, Joe could only shake his head. "But it's not enough. I didn't learn a thing about future plans. Has Fondanin uncovered any new leads in their own searches?"

"No, nothing which they didn't already mention at your inquiry," I said, taking a muffin for myself.

Joe blinked in disbelief. "But there has to be something. There have to be survivor's from at least one gang. Even if they're down, they're surely not out. Zozo thugs never sounded like quitters, especially when crimes against Jidoor are the offence of choice."

Locke set his partly-finished muffin down and folded his hands. "I just thought of this outcome. What if there weren't any survivors."

Mysteries are an exercise for the imagination. The unknown pushes people to connect what few dots they have and formulate theories and potential what-if scenarios, many of which can be damned complex and cross the absurdity line thrice over. But Locke's suggestion was simple, so much that it had been overlooked until now. And above all, it was logical. "I never thought of that. It would explain the post-raid inactivity."

"Really? I'd like to think so, but…" Joe pursed his lips and let his eyes dart about. The possibility was new to him as well, and though it appealed to him, he wasn't entirely convinced it had gone down that way. "…how can you be sure?"

"You don't do much hypothesizing, eh Joe?" Locke picked up his muffin and bit off another piece. "But think along these lines. The men and women of Fondanin's military were no softies in dealing with Jidoor's impoverished, long-time foe. Many of the troops were seasoned dragoon knights, and as I said earlier there weren't any living crooks to interrogate." Joe nodded, taking in knowledge that was probably ground-breaking to him, the kind of knowledge that had become sub-conscious to Locke and me some years ago. "It's likely that Zozo suffered a good fraction of the casualties they inflicted. That combined with the aftermath of their continued infighting would leave few survivors. And those left standing could easily perish shortly thereafter, having received wounds in the process, wounds serious enough to prove fatal."

"Well, it is a promising thought," Joe answered. "But maybe survivors could've relocated. They need not be in Zozo to plan and plot."

"Such caution is noble," I complimented. "But even if there were survivors, their numbers could be minimal at best. They'd be too sparse to pose much of a threat to anyone beyond a traveling lone merchant or mail carrier. I wouldn't declare Zozo a safe haven by any means, but if Locke's idea is true, the danger will stay confined in Zozo." I turned my eyes to Locke, who gave a cocky but amicable smirk.

"I hope you're right. Those pricks and bitches are threats to anyone, including each other." Joe's brown eyes momentarily scanned the snack trays, which now held only crumbs and wrappers. "I guess I'll be going now. I have all this new info to process." Joe stood and scooped up the newspaper, along with the guide/street map Locke had given him. "I've learned so much from just today. Thank you both. We'll have to meet again soon."

"Take care, Joe." Locke waved to the departing merchant as I gathered up the meal trays and dumped their spent contents into the closest trash can. Satisfied, we followed Joe's example and left the visitors' center café.

"So, what do you think of our new friend?" asked Locke as we passed various businesses on Citadel Boulevard.

"He's quite excited about knowing us, and he's very curious, more so than Leonard was. And Joe actually recognized us amid the military staff. Our reputations weren't lost on him, as they were on our Narshean associate."

"He does seem more outgoing than Leonard, although Leonard's opening up, at least that's the impression I'm getting. Terra can still work magic of some variety."

Joe's trade in gem stones had me thinking. "If Joe is a jewel merchant, maybe he sells opals, and I can finally get my hands on a pair of opal earrings." I pointed at Locke. "Exactly like the kind you forgot on my birthday last year," I admonished in mock criticism.

He just laughed before adding, "Hey hey, I couldn't find them, so I figured an opal hair band would be the next best alternative."

I took his hand and leaned my head against his shoulder. "Well it was better than nothing."

The two of us walked past more bustling side streets filled with patrons immersed in holiday shopping. I watched various people commuting along the sidewalks, until Locke's voice caught my attention. "I like Joe. His everyman status completes us in a way, largely because he's such a contrast to us."

"Maybe he was onto something when he mentioned that fate dealt him a winning hand. He's quite the optimist," I noted.

"Which also contrasts Leonard's cynical outlook, or what had been a cynical outlook until recently", Locke remarked.

"Our non-Returner associates are quite a crew, almost as diverse and versatile as ourselves."

My words prompted Locke to squeeze my hand gently. "We deserve no less. As I was saying, Leonard has been an interesting friend, and not just for Terra. I can't see Joe being any less a colorful character."

It was complete reciprocity. Joe was a very curious individual, and that personality trait invited some curiosity about him. We Returners had long since accepted that the standard 'normal' life would never be ours. Even in this post-kefka world of regeneration, our past wouldn't make like the Imperials and go to the grave. People like Leonard and Joe were just everyday people whose less-bombastic existence constantly reminded us that we were phenomenally exceptional. We'd gotten so used to our high standing that it had long since become second nature. Interacting with regulars like the Narshean and the Quildernite served as a real eye-opener. Despite their experiences, surviving a super monster attack on a military base and escaping Zozo after enduring battery from the punks for several days were exceptions in their lives, not standard events.

I was quite enjoying Joe's enthusiastic inquiries. His curiosity was the result of admiration. Nothing else could cause such ambitious desire to familiarize oneself with Sayitheren's greatest.


	18. To Prepare the Self

**Chapter 18: To Prepare the Self**

The new year come in without incidents. The inhabitants of my kingdom partook in the typical festivities associated with the Winter Solstice and the coming of a new calendar year.

Locke and Celes spent the holiday interval in Locke's hometown of Kohlingen, visiting some of his old acquaintances from childhood. Sabin spent time with his girlfriend Marielle, and stayed with her family in their hometown of Ilstenham, a large, independent city-state far south of Kohlingen.

Joe and Leonard busied themselves with their respective work. Joe continued selling precious stones in the castle's commerce chamber, and Leonard was working an extra shift at the farm, covering for a man visiting family in Nikeah. I hadn't seen him since Joe's inquiry, but Terra informed me that their first date together was a success, and then some.

There was a new concern. This particular Wither Solstice was somewhat difficult for Setzer. Normally, he'd be out and about with the airship, hosting gambling tournaments and luxury cruises, but with the Falcon still in the repair docks, the gambler was deprived of this pastime. With my typical optimism, I encouraged him to partake in the festivals around town, suggesting he experience them as a guest instead of a host.

The season wasn't completely songs and dances however. Cyan, my wife, and I attended a vigil in Narshe, to acknowledge those who perished in the Shedairah killings. This was the first holiday season since that day when nearly eight-hundred guards, troops, and mining personnel failed to return home. We spotted Arvis at the vigil. The Narshean Senator shot me a frown while shaking his head, but he otherwise remained civil. He said nothing about his distrust of Leonard or the Gurosawn clan.

The somberness wasn't confined to Narshe. Fondanin was still suffering from the aftermath of Zozo's coordinated attack, honoring the deceased with vigils of their own. I contacted the local government for word on the status of our Fondanite contact, but the fate of Lord Yves DuParme was still classified.

And while the season bore no disasters, there were still unanswered questions regarding the creatures that massacred Shedairah nearly three months back. The root cause of this beast evolution remained unknown, and I couldn't help but formulate differing theories. My best theory was that nature was on some kind of evolutionary overdrive. The land masses had, in some form or another, stitched themselves together about a year after Kefka's death. This topographical activity was remarkable, and nothing suggested it was irrelevant to this monster evolution. Maybe the monsters in Shedairah's caves had utilized their newfound strength to reclaim their natural habitat.

But if that were so, how did Ultros and Chupon factor in? They'd been intelligent creatures long before the great collapse. What brought them to their beastly, intelligent forms? Whatever it was, the great collapse may have triggered it again, with increasing frequency and ferocity.

Frequency? Ferocity, yes, but these attacks had been quite infrequent. Aside from the smaller-scale killings in the coliseum, the major scenes of beast-made carnage were confined to Shedairah. The massacre in Fondanin was bloody, but it was pulled off by human perpetrators. The gigai were directly controlled by their gangland masters, and gigai were hardly a new species.

Speculation would have to settle for now. There was still a major issue here in the capital. With the winter celebrations over and the new year in place, the Reservoir Guild resumed building the plumbing add-ons. The new pipelines would now reach into the more developed parts of Figaro City. That meant closing major streets and digging wider, deeper trenches for large lines. The next phase of taxation would begin.

Charise was meeting with the Reservoir Guild. I sat in the castle study, glancing over a report on who was funding how much of the taxes. Just as Charise predicted, the farming community in the northeast district was footing most of the bill. It was decided, the fairest way to distribute this excess taxation would be to impose larger fees on those who used larger quantities of water. The farms needed large amounts for their crops, and were thus paying more tax money. Better water utilities would mean better agriculture.

There came a knock on the study door, followed by Cyan's voice. "King Edgar. A visitor who requests audience with thee."

I was happy to shut the tax folder and change the subject. "Send them in."

The Doman stepped back and let the guest enter my presence. "Greetings, King Edgar of Figaro." Ziegfried Morersch bowed and greeted me in a manner strikingly odd for someone of his position, though I gratefully accepted his reverence.

"And welcome to Figaro Castle, champion of Dragon's Neck Coliseum. What brings you to my royal presence?"

The accomplished gladiator was clad in his usual attire; a flat but sturdy-looking armor cuirass, full-length plated boots and gauntlets that covered the entirety of his limbs, a flowing cape in the shade of a dark purple, thinly-stripped trousers with a thick belt, large bulbous shoulder coverings, and a piece of headgear with a horizontal slit for vision. His offence was equally impressive. A long-handled axe was slung across his back, and a sheathed long sword with a cutlass-type handle hung from his belt. Additionally, the plates on his armored gloves had broad, short spikes that could turn punches into stabs.

But Ziegfried obviously wasn't here for combative reasons. "I wish to inform you of several happenings in Olistes, King Edgar. I've been recuperating form a hip injury, and was absent for over a month. Upon my return some weeks ago, I noticed the strange absence of the glorious airship, the Falcon. Your gambling friend often brings his vessel to the arena town this time of year. This winter season was different. Upon inquiring, I learned of the arena killings, and how some of the dead were customers of Gabbiani's."

I informed him about Ultros, Chupon, and their sabotaging the Falcon, as its ocean landing didn't make news in Olistes.

Ziegfried's expression remained obscured by his helmet. "Ultros and Chupon returned? This is even stranger than I thought. I also wanted to inform you that Shadow is still missing?"

"He's not come back yet?" I asked, stunned. I looked at Cyan, and he was just as perplexed. "He's not been around here at all. Where else would he go?"

"The man was never one to discuss his nature," Cyan commented. "Sir Clyde, or Shadow, never really opened up until t'was revealed Relm was his daughter. After that, he remained distant. I'd not expect him to feel comfortable around the daughter he never knew. The feeling is mutual."

Cyan was correct in calling Shadow a private person. That's why the ninja took up residence in Olistes. The monster fighters of Dragon's Neck were often vagrant warriors, typical drifters, misfits, and loners by nature. Many were disenfranchised bounty hunters and ex-soldiers who were out of work, lost family and friends, and didn't care of they lived or died. When Kefka was slain and civilization started rebuilding itself, the blood sports of the arena were soon made into a profit, and a town called Olistes was born. A person like Shadow fit in perfectly. He'd need a damned good reason to leave his comfort zone.

Ziegfried nodded. "He vanished the same time as Chupon and Ultros, yet those two returned without him. What if they played a part in his disappearance?"

Sabin recalled asking such during the skirmish in the air, Ultros had no intention of answering. I could only gaze down at the red carpet floor. "Even if they did, they're off our map, just like him."

"And you don't investigate their potential whereabouts?" inquired Ziegfried.

I glanced back up at the gladiator, trying to make eye contact through the armored visor. "We have nothing to go on. Besides, I've had other issues to contend with locally. On one hand, there's a major expansion of this town's plumbing underway, and on another…"

I stopped myself, hesitant on repeating Leonard's full story of the Shedairah massacre. What happened in the mountain caverns didn't concern Olistes. There was still no solid link between Ultros and Chupon and the carnage at Leonard's former workplace. They'd gone missing some weeks after the bloodbath.

Suddenly, the obvious came around. I was conversing with a man who fought strange creatures almost everyday of his life, as a profession. He'd probably slain various species I'd never heard about. Though I wouldn't waste time by repeating Leonard's story, I could discuss Shedairah itself.

I picked up were I'd left off. "On the other hand, there've been some incidents in the previous months, involving new strains of wild beasts. They're much smarter than the average monster. They attacked a military-controlled mining base in the mountains of Narshe, killing nearly everyone inside. And when recovered samples were being examined in the lab, one of them went berserk and destroyed the lab equipment, effectively halting the research. I can only speculate if Ultros and Chupon are related or comparable to these new creatures. Thus far, there have only been two attacks, one very minor, but I don't think these creatures are finished. I'm bracing for more."

The arena champ's voice was more pronounced. "Monster attacks. I hadn't known of these, but maybe they're connected with Ultros and Chupon vanishing. From what you said, I feel they killed the spectators to get your attention and disable your friend's craft. They don't want you getting around easily."

I stood and flexed my shoulders. "There's no established link between them and the new creatures, but nothing to disprove a link exists."

At last, Ziegfried caught on. "Maybe I could aide you and your armies with this monster issue. My experience with the rarer, more violent strains could greatly benefit you in this time."

Cyan walked to the champ's right side. "Sir Ziegfried, you'd put aside your affairs at the arena for us?"

Ziegfried turned to Cyan. "Ever since the arena killings, business at the coliseum has been slower than usual. Now that my hip's recovered, I'd be more than eager to assist you in dealing with these new creatures."

"Yes, any assistance with this mystery is beyond welcome. Your expertise could prove invaluable."

As I spoke, the man reached to his neck and loosened a few buckles. With both hands, the obstructing piece of headgear was removed. Tan hair, parted in the center and hanging just below his neckline, was the first feature I noticed, but the hairdo didn't steal the show.

No wonder Ziegfried wore his helmet so often. From his lower jaw line to his cheek bone, a massive scar covered his facial skin, like a jagged crater in the flesh, its rims bulging out from the surrounding areas, the center coarse and grainy. And it wasn't just a surface wound. Ziegfried's facial shape was noticeably asymmetrical, as the lower left side of his face curved towards his chin at a sharper angle than the lower right side. There was clearly some bone damage from that injury. My own cheek and chin were itching just from looking it. I'd never seen such gruesome facial trauma on a living person. And yet, Ziegfried gave all indication of being in robust physical health.

Clutching his helmet, Ziegfried dropped to a single knee. "I, Ziegfried Morersch, champion of Dragon's Neck Coliseum, offer my talents and services to you, King Edgar of Figaro, in honor of our missing mutual friend Clyde 'Shadow' Arrowny."

I did more observations on his gear. The scabbard of his long sword bore a design near the opening. The design was a wide black rectangle with a horizontal orange stripe and a vertical blue stripe upon it. At the rectangle's midpoint, where the two stripes overlapped, a round slivery shield was placed, with a sword and a halberd forming an X over on top. The rectangular design could easily pass for a flag. In fact, it was a flag, the city-state flag of Olistes. The arena town provided Ziegfried with tools for the trade. If the gladiator were offering his skills to me, I'd also need to provide him with resources, anything that Olistes didn't manufacture.

"The formalities are appreciated, but as the friend of a friend, you need to not kiss up to me. You can address me without my title." My relaxed words and tone brought the champion to his feet. He smiled, creasing his facial scar. "I'll see that you're given lodging and familiarity with this town. I take it you've only been here once, when you inquired about Shadow the first time." Back than, his absence didn't seem abnormal. Recalling Ziegfried's first visit jarred my memory. "Didn't you say that around the time Shadow vanished, you were approached by a strange man offering you some kind of proposal?"

Ziegfried looked upwards. "Yes, something about using my talents for a more practical purpose. He didn't elaborate, but spoke of affairs that didn't involve me. I am no longer a mercenary, but I wished him the best and we parted ways."

I nodded. "How would you describe this individual?"

"Tall, toned, fit, long hair, stoic face, casually dressed."

I glanced at Cyan. "That description applies to just about every contender at Dragon's Neck. It's possible this guy was just making stuff up." Cyan agreed with me. "Anyways, I'll prepare a room for you, and ensure you get briefed in full on the said monster incidents. Cyan, I trust you'll show the man around and introduce him to your staff."

"As you wish, my Lord." Cyan bowed.

"I thank you for this opportunity, Ki…Edgar." Ziegfried grinned upon catching himself. "I'll return to my Olistes dwelling and gather what things I'll need here. I'll see you tomorrow." With that, he and Cyan left the study.

Ziegfried's concern for Shadow led him to travel here. The apathetic, taciturn stereotype of a Dragon's Neck gladiator wasn't always true. The champion was genuinely concerned for our ninja companion.

Still, Shadow could take care of himself, I never doubted that. If he wished to vanish for whatever reason, not even the King of Figaro could stop him.

_change in s & n_

Finally, the opportunity I'd longed for.

My colleague at the farm was back in town, and Sabin had returned from vacation with his girlfriend's family.

But the real opportunity was in that Sabin had no prior arrangements after this lesson. No meetings in town, no sessions with Gau, or anything else in life that could happen when you make other plans. I'd have his undivided attention.

Sabin took a seat across from me at a small table in the dojo's first floor chamber. "You're still a beginner, but you're a quick learner. You've a gift for catching on swiftly."

"You've no idea," I mused. I learned to catch on quickly. I had enemies from two fronts while growing up, my father's victims and his supporters alike. You cannot take your time when learning survival. You force it if need be, as the necessity is forced upon you.

"What you lack in muscle, you adequately compensate with quick reflexes, adaptation, resourcefulness, and precision." Sabin verbalized his observations of me. "There's more than one way to learn the blitz, and maybe even more than one style of the blitz itself."

He'd read my mind, without even trying. Now was the chance. The discussion that I wanted so much but had to postpone so often would be delayed no more. I could finally ask Sabin about his knowledge of Jrysthovuhn culture, the birthplace of the blitz. "Speaking on that note, where and how did the blitz develop? I know it's totally unrelated to espers and magic, but what's there to its history?" Instead of pouring out my knowledge in massive info dump, I inquired about his wisdom.

"A wise question Leonard, and one with an equally rich answer. There's a means to connect one's spiritual aura with that of nature. Unlike magic which was derived from an external source like magicite stones and statues, the blitz relies in part on the user's internal conscious state. This was a practice done in ages past, before magic and the war took center stage, causing all but the seasoned practitioners to overlook it. But in time, once the global conflict ceased and the survivors picked up their broken lives, the practice resumed."

Sabin paused for a drink of Relm's lemonade. I listened restlessly, waiting for the Jrysthovuh connection. "Anyways, this esoteric practice took different forms. It spread throughout the world, as many had accidently discovered it. In a time period when magic and the Empire were major concerns, this practice was generally ignored. Few could truly utilize the practice of connecting one's own soul to nature itself, so it was hardly a practical counter to Magitek weapons. Of course, Yours Truly was an exception."

I was hard-pressed to disagree with him, but my pulse thumped with impatience. _C'mon already. Get to the part where Jrysthovuh fits in, damn it! _The voice in my head, which normally admonished me and me alone, was now criticizing Sabin for procrastination.

Naturally, I was more refined than my internal voice, and let Sabin continue. "Duncan, my late master, was also an exceptionally disciplined man. He not only maintained his spirit state but communicated the basics and ultimately shared his wisdom. What he did for me, I'm doing for you and Terra. So, for the short answer, the blitz is merely a surviving branch of a long-forgotten, seldom-understood mental concept."

"So the blitz art has no specific place or time of origin?"

He laughed. "Not at all my friend. If you thought people somewhere put their heads together and created a fighting style named the blitz, you're sorely mistaken. It evolved slowly from various places."

"I see."

The younger Figaro twin spoke confidently and purposefully without hesitation. He was an expert on the subject, and actually spoke words that contradicted my expectations.

The world slowed. The dojo and Sabin were an abyss away. A cyclone of disillusionment, confusion, and even disappointment stormed through me. I had not expected this at all, but hearing it from a man who knew his stuff, I could arrive at only one conclusion.

Jrysthovuh was not where the blitz had originated.

But if that were so, what had I believed all this time?

Maybe I was exaggerating. Learning about Jrysthovuh was simply a hobby for me, a specialized interest. I never considered myself a scholar or historian on the subject. It had been five years at most since I'd first learned about it.

Here I believed the Ts'aosra'iy was an authoritative source, but a man just as credible had contradicted that information in every way. What if…

…what if the Ts'aosra'iy was wrong? I couldn't doubt that prospect now. There were two possibilities, neither of which allowed my 'knowledge' to maintain its value; if the Ts'aosra'iy wasn't lying, it was full of errors.

Errors. Mistakes. People make them all the time, and unless they realize they're mistaken, they never learn, and repeat the mistakes perpetually without realizing it. Maybe that was the answer. I'd simply misunderstood the Ts'aosra'iy. 'Blitz' was a generic term. It was likely referring to something else altogether, and I'd simply _presumed_ it spoke of the blitz art, greatly misinterpreting the information.

Something moved before my eyes. It went up and down slowly, much like the ore crusher pistons I operated at the late Shedairah installation. I concentrated on the moving object. It was Sabin's open hand. "Still with me Leonard?"

Looking into his eyes brought reality back. "I just thought the blitz had more bombastic roots. You're right. I'm greatly mistaken."

"If you don't make any screw-ups, you're not trying hard enough," he offered.

I stood and stretched my legs, knowing it was time to rethink my 'wisdom'. Sabin spoke up. "Now I have to ask you something. Have you been properly introduced to Joe?"

Joe. The name rang a bell, but I didn't quite place it. Sabin spoke though it was common knowledge. Suddenly I made the connection. "You mean Joe from Zozo?"

The blitz master laughed. "Not quite. We found him there, but he actually lived in Quildern at one point, before moving to Jidoor, where he was kidnapped by the goons."

"Right. The guy from that recent inquiry. What about him?"

"He's working in the castle as a jewelry merchant. He's quite an everyman, the average Joe, if you will." He chuckled at his own pun. "I think you'll get along fine with the gentleman, what with you being another average man. Ever feel a tad humbled next to us, as if you can't compare with our outstanding achievements?"

I felt very humble after my long-awaited chat with Sabin produced unforeseen results. But that had nothing to do with being a mere speck of dust next to the ever-glorious Returner crowd. "No, I don't feel inadequate compared to you. Few can reach your status, so I'm not complaining."

"Nonetheless, you and he could relate, as the average Joe should have plenty in common with the average Leonard," Sabin joked. "Look for him sometime. He may feel trivial next to us, so maybe you can offer him equal ground." He sat on the floor in a cross-legged position, and placed his hands beside himself, lifting himself up without uncrossing his legs. "Any more questions?"

"Not at the moment." My mind was elsewhere. "Thank you for answers."

He lowered himself to within centimeters off the ground, and lifted himself up again. "Anytime. It pays to know the origins of what you practice. See you next lesson."

"Bye." I left the blitz master to his exercises and made for the nearby train stop. My thoughts raced from this startling discovery. It was time to consult the Ts'aosra'iy in full. At the least, a thorough analysis was required, one that pulled no punches and cut no corners. I'd first learned about Jrysthovuh when my expectations were anything but. Studying the reclusive society helped keep me sane back when dad's chums and haters were both howling for my blood. Either the Ts'aosra'iy was inaccurate, or I was the erroneous party. Somehow, in a way I couldn't explain, the latter scenario felt preferable.

_change in s & n_

I performed a downward slash, the momentum of which allowed for some cartwheel kicks, followed by a high slash to the left, at which point I spun a 360 and lowered myself into a splits position, finishing off with a thrust to the groin of my imaginary foe.

Sabin applauded me as he watched. "Excellent Terra. Your agility has never failed to impress me. Once you get the movements down, you can build on them with more sophisticated spirit moves."

He and I were in the dojo's outside yard. Relm and Gau were at their studies once again, and Leonard was working, as he and I only had one lesson together, which ended with my boot in his manhood accidentally. A new party was observing my training.

"So, what do you think? I figured you'd be curious to see what I do nowadays." Sabin approached the observer.

Joe smiled. "Impressive. You've made quite a legend of yourself, so it's only fitting that you'd wish to pass on your skills."

"And I've got so much more to teach. Watch this." Sabin grabbed a plank of scrap wood from a bin near the fence and tossed it upwards. Immediately after, he squatted and leaped twice his height. With a back flip kick, the piece of wood snapped in half. Sabin began his descent, but unlike the board halves, he didn't come down in one smooth drop. Rather, he did circular hand chops and roundhouses using momentum from his entire body, each motion keeping him airborne for half a second, effectively breaking one large drop into smaller drops. His feet touched the ground next to the broken board segments. "How's that?"

Joe stared, as though he'd faint. "Amazing! You live up to your fabled legend. So the blitz isn't exclusively offensive techniques?"

"Hardly, my stone-selling friend. Strategic and indirect uses also apply."

Watching Sabin use air attacks to hover for those brief seconds got my curiosity. "How'd you float like that? Is it some means of toying with your field of gravity?"

"Not quite. I'm not _that_ talented. Basically, the momentum of the air move carries you upward for a moment. It's like jumping, except you're jumping from midair instead of solid ground. As you can guess, you need to really focus your energy into the motion to lift yourself, especially to slow the drop. What goes up must come down, so I crafted a method of coming down with less velocity." As he concluded, a loud knock came from the dojo's front door. Sabin went to answer.

I looked at Joe, who was dazed from Sabin's performance. "You're not used to watching such displays of talent?"

"No," he answered with a bashful smile. "I'm just a stone peddler. My greatest adventure was getting captured and beaten by those gang members, and that's not an experience I'd like to repeat."

Sabin rejoined us, with Cyan behind him. "Lady Terra, Prince Sabin, and Sir Joseph. I want to properly introduce our new ally. Sir Ziegfried Morersch of Olistes."

I exchanged a glance of curiosity with Sabin. Joe was blank, as I expected. The coliseum's champion wore his usual armor, but the clothes underneath were different. They looked like a Figaroan military uniform.

The gladiator gestured at his sleeve. "The King suggested I wear this, since locals don't travel this city with an arsenal like mine, unless military fatigues are in the package. I've no intentions of spooking the residents."

"That's quite generous of you. Welcome back to my world." Sabin reached for Ziegfried's gloved hand. Ziegfried took Sabin's in his own. The champion wasn't as distant as I'd first thought. "So why the new uniform and a visit?"

"I came to inquire about your friend Shadow. He's been absent for a couple months now. He's not been around, from what Edgar said. I also hear you've some issues you wish to resolve." He glanced around, at me, and then at Joe. "I don't recall your face. Are you another blitz trainee?"

The jewel merchant raised his hands and laughed. "Hardly. I'm just a friend, meeting the world's finest."

"I see. And as the finest from Olistes, I'm offering my services to Edgar because of our mutual friend Shadow, wherever he is."

"At Kind Edgar's request, the champion was to be given full knowledge of our facilities," Cyan offered. "That includes this magnificent training hall."

Sabin acted embarrassed, though it clearly tongue-and-cheek. "You're too kind Cyan. But it's a pleasure to have you here, Ziegfried. I'm quite enthusiastic to see your talents."

"Your enthusiasm is reciprocated, blitz master. I'd stay longer, but I must familiarize myself with this splendid capital." He turned his masked face to Cyan. "Thank you for your time and generosity, General Garamonde."

"T'is always a pleasure," answered Cyan before regarding the rest of us. "Sirs, lady, we shall be in touch." The two men left the dojo.

"Another Returner?" Joe asked. "I don't recall any Ziegfried amongst you."

"No, but he's an associate, at least now," Sabin answered. "He's joining us because of a mutual friend Shadow, who's among our ranks. You've heard of the ninja, I'm sure."

Joe nodded. "Yes. But I don't understand why a Returner must hide behind an alias. You people shouldn't have a reason for generic pseudonyms. Although being a Returner is no obscure living. Maybe he does this for privacy."

"It's a long story," I said. "I don't feel obliged to bore you with it."

"That's good, because I must get back to work soon. Break doesn't last forever." The merchant pointed at his pocket watch. "It was nice to meet you, Ms Branford, and this is a fantastic place." He gazed around in admiration. "I'll be seeing you."

Joe waved to us both as he left, beaming with excitement. I looked up at Sabin. "Joe's a very curious individual. He almost fell down when you showed off that new technique."

"What can I say? We're a welcome change in the everyman's life," boasted Sabin with sincerity. "I wonder if he's a tad uneasy around us. He feels modest and inadequate. I think he and Leonard should cross paths. The Narshean may help put him at ease."

I sheathed my weapon. "We can't all be Kefka-slayers, though our extended circle of friends is pretty impressive. A scientist, a senator, and now a gladiator. Why is the champ from Dragon's Neck helping Edgar?"

"Oh, right. Cyan said he's helping us with the monster issue, the things that massacred Shedairah. We said nothing about it with Joe around. The poor guy looked nervous enough from watching my demo. Talking about real danger would have him pissing his pants. Anyways…" Sabin changed the subject drastically. "You had a great meal with Leonard. Planning another?"

"It's on my agenda, but I haven't actually made any solid plans. I educated him a bit on espers, and how they weren't all bad."

He scratched his head. "Maybe now you can feel more open to discussing your heritage. He might reveal why his family was so despised. He doesn't sound esperphobic anymore."

I gently slapped Sabin's upper arm near the elbow. "Is that even a word? But yes, I see your point. Slowly, we can open up."

"Now you're talking. Anyways, let's not get too sidetracked. Let's cover those stretching drills from last lesson."

There was a time for thoughts about Leonard's secrets and Joe's curiosity. Now wasn't that time. I'd come here to brush up on the aforementioned stretching exercises, not to ponder the life stories of our everyman associates. There'd come many chances to meet up with Leonard and get further acquainted with the ever-modest Joe.

_change in s & n_

Baokiydu gazed at the inert catch before us, and glanced at Yithadri from the corner of his larger eye. "Ready yet?"

The Honored Shamaness ran her fingers over the catch's neck, down the chest, and across the abdomen. "Life force is minimal. This one's ready."

The chance of another prison riot was longer a concern. In this state, the prisoners wouldn't plot, complain, or the like. Sure, it would've been more practical to just execute them all and be done with it. But Ruqojjen pointed out how the captured enemy ranks and their supporters could actually be of some use. We hadn't slain our catches in full. They still breathed and had a pulse, but aside from that, they were not among the living, for all intents and purposes.

Were they ever living to begin with? All they did was follow orders without question, relying upon House nobility to dictate their lives. Questioning superiors was a vile blasphemy to them, assuming they could think that far ahead. They eagerly forfeited personal choices in favor of enslavement. Their blind, unquestioning, kiss-ass allegiance was to a noble couple, two mere human beings, themselves ignorant and delusional. And this was the cause of the army, a group of 'elite' so mentally inferior, they'd gladly cut off their own sex organs if ordered to. Elite my fucking ass.

A mind that never questions mortal-level authority on any level is a mind that does not function, and a mind that does not function is clinically dead. These drones didn't live, they simply existed.

Baokiydu unceremoniously tossed the vegetable into a 'corpse cart' with others that reached 'ready' status. We'd take the sragnijus druasunoi augmentation practice to a new level. "I think we've got a full load," he announced. Indeed, it was at max capacity, as full it could be without spilling any contents. One didn't need the Sensorian's augmented vision to notice.

Baokiydu pulled the cart's front end. I took the back end, pushing slightly and helping turn corners as we traversed the dungeon halls. My part was easy, as Baokiydu's pulling did most of the work. Though he was chubby with a beer gut to match, the Sensorian packed a decent share of physical strength. His speed and agility wasn't on par with Dyal'xern's or Sdalsyra's, but managed to keep up when need be. He had stamina, something that I wasn't exactly known for.

Unfortunately, Baokiydu could get irritable, and was rarely at loss for pet peeves. Truth be told, his temper was always in check when on missions. His short fuse never cost us a vital strategic opportunity. Down time, particularly long intervals of it, was when his grumpy temper came out.

Yithadri was up ahead, greeting Nyufalng staff as we passed though the standard cell block of the dungeon complex. We had no reason to enter the solitary block right now. There was only one prisoner there, and he wasn't about to give us any shit.

We entered a new corridor, with brighter lights. The exit was up close. As I anticipated, Baokiydu had something to complain about. "I hope the railways are fixed. Otherwise, it'll be a real bitch to haul this load across town to the Falpuryn Hills."

For a change, I understood this complaint. "If it's hard on you, it'll prove impossible for me. I'm just a teen girl, with endurance far beneath yours."

He turned briefly and flashed a smirk. "Ajalni, if you tire out, you can just hop in the cart with the veggies and enjoy a free ride."

I let loose my girlish giggles. "No thanks. I'm sure the railway system will be functional soon. I trust that Dyal'xern and Qaurjaeda fixed all the broken spikes and ties by now."

The railway system was a series of underground tunnels that ran beneath various points of interest through Albrook. It was installed by the Empire for use in transporting large magitek units around the city in short amounts of time. When the Empire fell, the House of Sireck and Edrina claimed it for their own uses, one of which had been fighting us and our local membership. The railway system's destruction was our doing, a means to slow the House and cripple its strength. With the House gone, the railway tunnels were ours. We just had to repair the damage we'd wrought.

"I'm sure they got enough done to connect the closest stop with the eastern edge of town," I put in. "Qaurjaeda can easily bend those twisted rails back into shape, and Dyal'xern once worked in structural architecture during his time as a slave to the Council. _This_ type of building should prove enjoyable to him. If he's finished the required stretch, he's probably fucking his favorite hooker by now."

We approached another corner, time for turning instead of pushing. Baokiydu assisted me with this one. "Ajalni, they're actually not hookers, they're _groupies._"

"What's the difference?" I asked, angling the cart around the ninety-degree bend.

"Simple," he explained. "Hookers charge for sex. Groupies don't. They do it for free. They're just very selective of those who…_experience_ them. They won't fuck just anyone. They only choose individuals who they deem special enough."

"Like Dyal'xern," I teased as we entered the newest corridor. "He's 'special enough' by his own admission."

Baokiydu frowned. "I can see you've been hanging with him too much."

"Me? You're the one who shares his interest in call girl…er…groupie sex." Those little orgies were a mutual hobby for the Sensorian and the Air-smasher, though for much different reasons. For Dyal'xern, the reason was 'I deserve to experience all the colors thanks to my greatness'. Baokiydu's reason was less eccentric; a recreational pastime to avoid boredom.

We'd come upon the exit. As prisoners could no longer inconvenience us, passwords were now obsolete. Once outside, a young messenger approached. "Honored Shamaness. The rails have been fixed. Railway transit to the east side of town is possible now."

Yithadri ran fingers through her long dark hair. "Splendid." We expected the young man to carry on with his duties, but he stayed put. Yithadri asked, "Have you something else to say?"

The youth, around my age, cleared his throat. "Well…I'm new around here. I'm one of those rescued slaves from Lagione. I think it's fantastic that someone's finally looking after the weak down here, protecting those who cannot protect themselves. We need guardians like you."

I squinted at the young man, wondering if I'd heard him correctly. Baokiydu's response confirmed that I'd not misheard anything. He let go of the cart handles and tightened his fists irately. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear you were pulling some 'helpless victim' charade. Maybe I'll be generous, and presume you're just fucking around and not being serious."

"No I m-m-meant it," stammered the young man. "What is a society that doesn't protect the most vulnerable above all else?"

Suddenly, this youth took on a very negative ambiance. If he was true in his words and demeanor, he had no business here…putting it lightly. Baokiydu's clenched fists were shaking. I glared at the youth before us, once again empathizing with Baokiydu's disgust.

I remembered an altercation from the past month. As we were preparing to leave for Zozo, a heated discussion ensued between Ruqojjen and a Lieutenant. The Officer thought some of the rescued slaves were joining the feeble woe-is-me crowd, expecting something for nothing. Though he wasn't exactly diplomatic, I'd just gained immense respect and understating of his viewpoint.

Yithadri's dark eyes flashed immediately at the mention of 'weak'. Though a mystic by trade, she still possessed a formidable physical condition. She grabbed the young man by the lapels of his worn jacket and thrust him against the wall that ringed the prison complex. "The answer is simple. It's the only society with a future."

The kid was taken aback by her words. "What do you mean? A culture that n-neglect-s the defenseless is…"

"…Simply one that goes by natural instinct," Baokiydu interrupted the youth, clearly sick of the crybaby's feeble display. We both stepped forward, engaging the man whom Yithadri pinned against the stone wall, waiting for him to reply.

After a moment of trembling, he finally did. "But we can't defend ourselves from…"

This time, it was the Shamaness who cut him off. "Can't defend yourselves? I've never heard such a fucking crock of shit. You _can_, but you make the decision not to. Defenselessness only exists in the mind. You're only as helpless as you believe."

Maybe she'd gotten through to him, but he had a question that was almost legitimate. Almost. "How could we defend our impoverished town against armed soldiers and magitek units?"

"Things have changed since then. Look around you," answered Yithadri in a harsh but calm tone. "Look at the obvious. This town is fully comprised of willing, enthusiastic liberators and militants. Were that not enough…" She turned to me and spoke in a more objective tone. "Ajalni, I think he needs a demonstration."

"Gladly." I opened my mouth and unleashed my tongue, waving it around at a yard's length before the youth's eyes and producing several dark, glossy growths which cackled with bio-electricity. I could electrocute this moron if I tongue lassoed him. But I pulled it back in my mouth. "This was not a birth feature. It's an organic biological weapon granted to me for the purpose of fighting enemies like your oppressors. It has served me well. If I'm not helpless, neither are you. Stop making excuses."

Baokiydu leaned in toward the young man and snarled, "We journeyed to Lagione and halted your enslavement. We saved you from hell so that you could build your own heaven and pursue your self-interests. And this is how you thank us, by overtly pissing yourself?"

More silence. The guy looked downward, until Yithadri pulled his chin up so that his eyes met hers. "Ungrateful," she calmly declared in his face. "That word fits your weak mind perfectly. In case you didn't already figure it out, a society's weakest members are also its most dishonest, treacherous, back-stabbing," she stared him down, "and ungrateful."

Baokiydu folded arms. "Helpless does not equal harmless. Wake up to reality, dumb ass."

The Honored Shamaness had loosened her grip on the whiner, though she still held him firmly. "It's the weakest members of society that have victimized you. Think about it. Only the weak and worthless need slaves. They can't fend for themselves, and thus rely on slaves to exist. Without slaves, they ultimately crash, burn, and die off. Even cockroaches and sewer rats are more in touch with their inner survival instincts. Do you _enjoy_ being the victim of life forms inferior to bugs and rodents? Even a puppy shows its teeth when trapped in a corner."

The youth juggled his eyes between me, Baokiydu, Yithadri, and the darkening sky of dusk overhead. Perhaps he was reconsidering his belief system. At least he could look at us without blinking. "So you've no sympathy for victimized?" His words came more smoothly as well.

"You're only a victim for so long," Yithadri explained. "After that point, you permit your own victimization. Inaction deprives you of any sympathy. When a society is threatened like yours, it falls upon the shoulders of _every_ member to counter the looming menace. Age, gender, profession, none of those mean shit." She turned her eyes to me in a prompting manner. "Ajalni, how long have you been with us?"

"Six years. I first spilled blood at the age of eleven. The kill was an Imperial Major, a man more than thrice my age at the time."

The Honored Shamaness nodded at my example before regarding the youth again. "In dark, desperate times, there are no civilians. Everyone bands together for a common cause against a mutual foe. It's not so much an honor, or even a public service, but something much greater, a simple necessity derived from the laws of nature itself. If the society decides to not utilize every resource in neutralizing the threat, it will fall down, fast and hard, and it won't get back up. Everyone can do something." Her glare began to lighten up. "And so can you."

"We've given you a golden opportunity to make a choice and fight your battle, our collective battle," I put in. "Don't ever take this chance for granted. Use it. Only you can make the choice. Until you're willing put forth the effort to help yourself, you're not worth our time."

Yithadri moved her hand away from the guy's chin. He did not look down. "We train, inform, enlighten, discipline, and empower. But know this; we are _not_ protectors. Smarten up and realize the fullness of your own capabilities. If not for us, do it for yourself, for it's _your_ future at risk if you don't."

At last, he finally understood that the worthy must rely on themselves for protection before they can earn the respect and assistance of their peers. He twisted his lips to the side. "Protecting the defenseless was in the manifesto of…" After a pause, he named the group in question, with a hateful tone.

"So much good they've done for you," Baokiydu stated sarcastically. "One of 'em fucked with your town originally while another supplied the resources for such, and recently even supplied the House of Albrook. I wouldn't go quoting their mantras."

"No, I shouldn't." The youth shook his head. Resentment was now his primary thought, not inner weakness. "You're completely right. They're nothing but deceitful hypocrites."

"Than you really do understand." Yithadri released her grip. "See, you just needed to open your eyes and tune your ears more. The truth is right before you."

With a deep inhale, the young man stepped forward. "If that's the case, I will find the nearest military officer. I trust them to give me some…tactical training." He departed through the opening in the fortified wall, striding with purpose.

"Protectors," growled Baokiydu, as if speaking the very word put a foul taste in his mouth. "Do they really accomplish any good for anyone? Today's protectors are tomorrow's oppressors."

"Damn right," I said. "We've all seen that before. In the end, the Council's promise of keeping Jrysthovuh safe exploited everyone who bought it. And to think they actually employed you at one point."

The Sensorian hissed, remembering the experience. A long time back (at least half my lifetime), when my folks were still alive and Ruqojjen and Yithadri had just started the Nyufalng, Baokiydu worked as an academic in scientific fields. His diplomacy and people skills weren't exactly special (little had changed since), but his accomplishments as a scholar were impressive to the Council. They offered him a promotion, a position where he'd serve them directly. At the time, it was an offer he 'couldn't refuse'.

Unfortunately for him, he didn't live up to their impossible demands and expectations. They were utterly startled upon realizing their appointed intellectual was (at the time) only human. But the Council wouldn't fess up to over-estimating him, nor would they lower their demands. Instead, they punished him, delivering the beating of his life, the beating that nearly claimed his life…and the beating that ultimately changed his life. Every bone in both his hands was crushed into non-existence, and excessive cranial trauma caused one of his eyes to pop out from its socket.

But the dying, one-eyed, handless man was found by and revitalized by a High Shenthaxa and an Honored Shamaness who were dead-set on some long-overdue reform. Baokiydu's knowledge and ambition to crush his oppressors earned him the first Pirusymn stone, and the Nyufalng's first Pung Thoshidei debuted soon after.

"The Council will suffer in time," Yithadri assured him. "Enhanced augmentations are a step in that direction. Let's get this load to the hilltop."

We resumed our trek through Albrook, following Yithadri to the nearest railway stop. A wide stairwell leading underground marked the spot. Next to that were some lifts. We loaded one with the cart and descended below street level.

The loading platform was empty, but flashing lights on the guardrails and a whistling bell overhead signaled that a transit car was approaching. Seconds later, one pulled in from the left and slowed to a halt, prompting its doors to slide open.

As these railcars were meant for transporting freight, they weren't built with passengers in mind. No seats were found within. However, there was at least one passenger aboard this ride. A female Nyufalng trooper greeted us as she stepped out. "Honored Shamaness, you're just the person I'm looking for. We just received a message from Tanrevilt. For good reason, it was cut short. But despite its brevity, we learned some important facts."

The Honored Shamaness placed her hand on the woman's upper arm. "Fill us in."

_change in s & n_

The sun dropped behind the wooded mountains west of Narshe. As dark shadows stretched across the town and street lamps flickered to life, I walked past the city limits and reflected on my conclusion.

A few days of hard analysis on the Ts'aosra'iy revealed nothing new about its content. I had misinterpreted nothing.

Had I been misinformed? Maybe there were facts I just didn't know. Maybe Jrysthovuh created something else that was comparable to the blitz art. Sabin mentioned how the blitz was but a single variety of this enigmatic spirit-and-soul practice. Maybe Jrysthovuh created another practice of its own, with the same foundation as the blitz. There were other offshoots. Were those fabled moogle dances another derivative?

Maybe the Ts'aosra'iy was factual, but also incomplete. That was another possibility.

I was dizzy from all this theorizing. I needed a break, and having dissected the Ts'aosra'iy at home, my pad wasn't the best option for a breather. I knew of a better place.

Just past the southwestern city limits of Narshe, the hills sloped up, leading to some elevated forests in the Hyaxulan Mountains. The trail leading up was a fine balance between secluded and civilized. The city lights were plenty visible, and the noises of inhabitation served as a reminder that you'd simply exited the town limits without roaming very far. The trains passed by the hills frequently, so access was convenient.

A train sped past behind me as I stepped along the trail. The remains of sunlight were masked by the tree line. I didn't plan on staying out here too long, just long enough to clear my mind, or until it got dark.

Atop the trail, I heard a distinct noise. I first passed it off as a random noise of town life that travelled up here, but as I walked further along the trail, it became more distinct. And its volume increased. It sounded like mumbling.

The voice got more pronounced, and I could tell it was male. It came from beyond a massive oak tree. Curiosity led me to the source. If I was being stalked, I had every intention of stalking the stalker.

There he was, leaning against a solid cedar tree, a hand between his head and the coarse bark, his back to me at a three-quarters angle.

His position wasn't suited for stalking, so I wrote off that scenario. Maybe he was some drunk who'd wandered up here by chance and was having a great conversation with himself. No, he wasn't staggering or slurring like a drunkard. His posture was steady, and his words sounded clean and concise. What if he was talking to…me?

The stupid question is the one that's never asked. With that in mind, I stepped forward. "You talking to me?"

The man froze, then startled, hastily shifting his position so that his back was to me in full. He looked over his shoulder. "Fuck man, don't scare me like that."

"Uhh…sorry." I muttered. "I just figured you were talking to me. I thought I was alone up here, until I heard you."

He faced the tree again. "As did I." There came a distinct noise from his direction. It sounded like a zipper. "I thought I could take a leak in private up here."

"Oh," I said. "I don't blame you for that. But why the chatter if you're alone."

The man faced me now. He wore a leather coat much like mine, light trousers, and simple shoes. Beyond that much, the trees shadowed everything else from where he stood, including his face. "You know how some guys whistle when they take a leak? Well…I…" The man stuttered, clearly embarrassed. "I recite poetry instead.

"Piss poems?" This was definitely a new concept.

"Yeah," the man laughed nervously. "Piss poems. I…er…apologize if I exposed to you my business."

I could share his awkwardness. "Well, I'm the one who stumbled upon you. But rest assured, I beheld none of your…_business_."

My response put the gentleman at ease. He walked closer, passing beneath a gap in the tree growth overhead. One of the afternoon's final sunrays poured through, highlighting his face. At once, I recognized him. "Hey, you're that guy who was rescued in Zozo. You gave an inquiry about your kidnapping. You're Joe, right?"

The man's humiliation vanished. "I am, but…how did you know? That wasn't a public meeting."

"The Returners grant a few extra privileges to their own," I answered. "You should know firsthand."

He took a step closer and blinked. "But I don't recognize you from the Returner lineup. You must be a new guy in their ranks."

"No, I'm merely an associate, just like you." I put my hand forward. "The name's Leonard."

Joe returned the greeting. "How do, Leonard. Sabin mentioned another student by that name. I guess that's you."

"He recommended that I meet you in person. I just did, but I ask, what brings you all the way up here? Meeting up with me wasn't your intention. And I'm sure your guest room in Figaro Castle has a working toilet."

"Well, I'm new to this area, so I'm exploring a bit. And, that's a fantastic view." Joe pointed over my shoulder at the Narshean skyline. "I don't plan on staying in the King's house forever, so I'm looking at other residential options around these parts. Why are you here? You weren't following me, I hope."

"Not at all. This is my home. I'm a native." I gestured around. "Born and raised in a town that combines hi-tech with natural splendor. I came up here for a little walk before sundown."

Joe nodded. "I see. If that's the case, maybe you could show me some places of interest here. As a local and a close Returner friend, I'd really appreciate it."

It was a reasonable desire, especially if Joe planned on relocating. But surely there were better people to ask. I pointed at my attire; army boots, faded jeans streaked with cow saliva, and a worn-in leather jacket. "Do I look like a realtor?"

"Sometimes, the best opinions aren't professional ones. Realtors are just out to sell property. There's no friendly connection between them and their clients," Joe remarked. "But as a fellow Returner associate who grew up in these parts, I trust your opinion."

More words of wisdom from Sabin echoed in my head. He said Joe could relate to me better than the others. Having just met him in person, it was obvious. "Sure, I'll give you a free tour of Narshe, but not right now. It's getting dark." The sun was gone now. The sky had lost its brilliant pink tone, replacing it with a darkening navy blue.

The gem merchant was agreeable. We both trekked back to the nearest train stop. "So, you live here. You work here too?" Joe asked as we took seats on the waiting bench.

"Used to." I wasn't keen on spilling the details of the Shedairah killings. Joe had been through horrors of his own, so I kept the mining base massacre to myself. "I now work at the dairy farm in the capital."

"What's the demand for jewels here in Narshe?" asked Joe. "I'm curious if my products would sell here."

"Narshe has always produced more industrial materials than precious ones." I spoke of my birthplace's chief industry. "That said, we do have silver smiths and other trades based in aesthetics. It's possible you could sell gems here."

As I finished my sentence, a southbound train pulled alongside the station's boarding platform. Joe stood up. "That's my ride. I'll be off now. It was a pleasure to meet you, to meet an equal in the Returner camp."

"Absolutely, but remember that we're the common ilk. They're the exceptions."

"I'll heed that." Joe waved good-bye as he joined the stream of others entering the capital-bound train. When the commuters all boarded, the train shut its doors, blared its howling whistle, and resumed its course. Before long another train pulled up, this one heading further into Narshe. This was my ride.

Though I'd just met him, I liked Joe already. He fit the mold of a person as average as his given name, but he wasn't that generic, certainly not with his above-average 'piss poems' idea.

_change in s & n_

More tax money had been collected, and the plumbing upgrades moved further into town. A few streets were now closed off for the pipe construction. The trains still ran on time. The railroad tracks were elevated, so the ditches were far beneath them. However, carriage and foot traffic weren't so lucky. Chocobo wagons and pedestrians had no choice but to use various detours the construction crews had set up. Add-ons would be constructed one town section at a time. Once a sector had its new piping in place, its roads would be reopened.

I still hated the role of being a King. Making and passing laws imposes many restrictions on personal freewill. For all my power of authority, my subjects could make choices that I could not, and freedom of choice is a very empowering concept. When I first took the throne, I had no idea if I could protect my people from the Empire. I kept a straight face in public, but even if I never showed weakness or doubt, I felt it. To my people, the King of Figaro was miracle worker, but I knew the reality. I was a just a man, no less human than my subjects. At times, fighting was preferable to servitude. In combat against the Empire and Kefka, there were no compromises, no negotiations, and no holes barred. Dragons and demon statues were intimidating, but the prospect of letting down my subjects was utterly terrifying. They trusted me. If I ever failed them…

I forced myself to stop. The times of playing double agent were long behind me. I still had my peoples' trust, else they never would've complied with the tax collection. My only trials at this time were the plumbing system and the monster anomaly. I was dealing with both matters at once.

The late afternoon sun burned bright over the castle courtyard. I watched the demonstration before me, not sure what to expect.

Ziegfried met Cyan's military staff and read the Shedairah bloodbath's report. While he commended my weapons department, the arena champion still wanted to illustrate his own capabilities, some kind of weaponry-based techniques that earned him victories at Dragon's Neck.

Cyan and Ziegfried gauged one another, wielding their respective blades. At once, they charged, and in a flash of steel, the Doma Knight's curving Sky Render met the Olisten gladiator's straight sword. The two differing blades clashed, then Cyan leaned backwards, as if the younger man was overpowering him. The Knight of Doma was fit considering his age, but he wasn't a power house. His fighting style was based on speed, while Ziegfried's was more based on strength. The gladiator wasn't as beefy as my brother however. Something else was giving him the raw power to force Cyan backward.

Cyan caught on. Instead of struggling against the more powerful momentum of Ziegfried, he followed it, stepping back diagonally. Ziegfried staggered forward, and Cyan raised his own piece.

Cyan was quick with the sword, but not so quick on his feet. By his own admission, any of us could beat him in a foot race. Ziegfried used the excess force to carry him beyond Cyan's reach, dashing forward. Before the older man could follow him, Ziegfried got into a ready position. The two were squaring off again, this time on different sides.

"Most impressive, Sir Ziegfried." Cyan re-sheathed his blade.

Ziegfried followed the example. "Only you could keep me on my feet like that." The two fighters regarded the group of soldiers who'd been watching.

"King Edgar. A man in your employ. Shall I admit him?" asked a guard behind me.

As Cyan and Ziegfried were taking a break from the combat demo, I could give a few minutes to the visitor. "Sure." The guard walked back inside and returned with the person. "Good day, Joe."

"Good day to you King Edgar." The jewel merchant sat on the half-wall near the steps to the open courtyard. "I've been thinking. Since the holiday business frenzy subsided over a month back, I'd like to visit a friend of mine who still lives in Quildern. Last I heard, he was ill. Then I moved to Fondanin, and you know the rest. My friend was off my mind, until now. I really want to check up on him."

I was frank with the peddler. "I need you here in the commerce hall Joe. Not to sound bossy or imposing, but your expertise in gemology is always in demand, holidays or not. The leading merchant relies on you for stone cuts and recommendations." Again, I reflected on how negotiating with my subjects bore complexities that battle did not. "I suppose I could grant you one day. But only one. I need you back here as soon as possible. And you'll have to give the lead merchant advance notice."

"I understand, and I'll spend that one day wisely." Joe agreed to my conditions. "Thank you kindly."

"Not a problem. Have you anything else to ask?"

He stretched and leaned on a support column. "I was exploring Narshe a few days ago and crossed paths with your friend Leonard. I'm considering a new place of residence, possibly Narshe. I asked Leonard for some pointers, and he's up for giving me a 'guided tour'. I know I'll move to place with Returner contacts close by, as means to get my foot in the door." The peddler shifted his position. "On that note, what kind of trading is done between you and your sister nation?"

I blinked. "Huh? What are you talking about? Figaro doesn't have a sister nation?"

Joe's look mirrored my own. "Excuse me? But…Your wife's a Vardiggan, is she not?"

Now I understood Joe's train of thought. It was original, though nonetheless inaccurate. "Oh, yes. She is from Vardigga, but there's no such alliance between our respective countries."

My answer didn't eliminate Joe's confusion. If anything, he was even more clueless. "But…why? Their citizen marries you…and they don't consider a marriage to the King of Figaro cause for a partnership?"

The commoner was curious, especially since he'd just realized how mistaken he really was. Vardigga's dislike of me hardly qualified as top secret knowledge, but it wasn't exactly common knowledge either, especially when measured against my Returner status. Though a full story of Vardigga's distrust was out of the question for personal reasons, I could give a brief, shortened version. "It's a long and rather bitter story. Short answer, they see me from a glass-half-empty outlook. My endeavors have earned me the trust of one Vardiggan, and non-hostile neutrality from the rest of her country. Should you travel to Vardigga, don't anticipate rejection, but don't think being 'in' with me will get you free passes and the like."

The gemstone merchant's face twisted in disgust. "Well, my outlook on them has just fallen considerably. For all their innovations in science, agriculture, and herbal medicine, they seem awfully dense and ignorant. I mean, they get a chance to have _you_, King Edgar Roni Figaro, in their corner, and they flush it down the toilet. How could they treat _you_ so poorly, and why do you allow such disrespect?"

Joe was clearly sickened by Vardigga's general viewpoint. The average peddler held me in such high esteem, he was shocked to learn his opinion wasn't universal. I didn't blame him for placing me on the pedestal. Leonard had done the same thing. But Vardigga's perspective was not without reason and merit. "Joe, their opinions are of their own choosing. You don't have to agree, but you should at least respect it, as I do. My wife knows fully well that she's unique among her people. She doesn't need any reminders that me and her homeland don't exactly get along. And Joe," I deliberately used the man's name while looking him square in the eye. "Don't insult Vardigga in my wife's presence."

He wasn't argumentative. In fact, he was rather apologetic. "Forgive me, Highness. I mean no ills to your wife or her people. She's as beautiful as she is kind and sweet, considering the fair treatment she has given you. But you've been so generous to me. To hear how Vardigga thinks so lowly…" Joe growled, unable to find the words.

"You need not _like_ their ideas. I just ask that you respect them. They actually respect me, relatively speaking. All things considered, this neutrality merits gratitude."

Another requirement of wearing the crown was to play the impartial, objective middleman between two conflicting opinions. Vardigga had arguable reasons for its critical skepticism, but since I'd provided the merchant with housing and a job in the commerce hall, Joe's defensiveness was also understandable.

As Joe frowned, I glanced at the military personnel. Cyan and Ziegfried stood apart from the gathered troops. Another weapon-based demo was about to start. "I must focus on business matters, so you'll have to vacate this courtyard. You can have one day of unpaid leave. Talk with your immediate boss to schedule it."

"Will do, King Edgar. I'll be in touch." Joe went back inside the castle, at which point I instructed the guards to shut all the doors leading into this courtyard.

The target for this particular weapon trick was formidable; a severed leg from an old magitek armor unit. It wasn't the typical target of close-combat melee weapons, but Ziegfried claimed that he'd devised a move which would greatly aide foot soldiers in taking out superior foes, like the many gigantic beasts he'd slain in the arena.

I walked closer, allowing myself a better view. "On your time, Ziegfried."

The gladiator assumed a battle posture and leveled his eyes on the leg of armored magitek muscle. Maybe I imagined it, but I could swear his weapon was glimmering in ways inconsistent with reflected sunlight. Finally, the man raised his weapon and stepped up to the magitek limb. I hadn't imagined anything. The weapon flashed brightly, something akin to a light bulb. Ziegfried swung the gleaming sword widely from his right, a pale yellow afterimage trailing the blade. An energetic hum accompanied the swing.

The inevitable impact came, complete its own share of audio and visual effects. On contact, the weapon's blade glowed silvery white, and sparks burst from the magitek's surface. As the micro-stars flashed, a tremendous noise erupted. I could only describe it as exploding airship engines combined with a clap of thunder, though scaled down to a degree. It wasn't deafening, but loud enough to get its point across. The thunderous bang lowered in both pitch and volume, until it was no more. Time to survey the results.

Years of machinery expertise were hardly needed to assess the damage. The magitek leg had toppled backwards, a searing gash just below its knee. The leg had nearly been cleaved in two. Heat was rising from the metallic surface. The metal on the gash's edge was glowing orange. Had this been a functioning unit, it would've gone down and stayed down.

The group of soldiers burst into applause. They were excited, and not just from watching the technique. Ziegfried had somehow devised this move, and he was willing to pass it along to Figaro's finest.

I almost felt like laughing, in awe and admiration. "Ziegfried. You're a man of your word. No wonder you became the champion of Dragon's Neck."

"I agree," echoed Cyan. "I've had three decades of military life, and I've never seen a simple, handheld weapon wreak so much havoc, especially without magic."

The champion raised his weapon, sans the whitish glow. "That's the Hyper-drive."

"Again!" called out one of the soldiers. "Chop it up!"

Ziegfried faced the army team. "Unfortunately, such extreme moves require focus that isn't channeled on a whim. The Hyper-drive and its peers are by no means a substitute for conventional fighting." Groans were emitted from the troops. Such an attack did not come without its limits. But the Hyper-drive was indeed a worthy addition to the infantry's arsenal. I could imagine it hobbling a giant monster, like the gargantuan snapping turtle found in the Shedairah mine.

Non-magical techniques. Yet another one was at Returner disposal. Sabin had his blitzes, Mog had the moogle dances, and now we had Ziegfried's weaponry-based techniques…whatever they were and however they were pulled off. Ziegfried had devised them, so they weren't natural abilities. Maybe it shared roots with the blitzes and dances.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized how my brother and Mog had knowledge that I didn't. As King, I could never be too educated. These were subjects I'd overlooked in the era of Imperials, espers, and magic. All that was long gone, and broadening my horizons wasn't just an option now, it was a necessity. If these wild, feral monsters were evolving to higher levels of intelligence and aggression, weapon-based abilities like the Hyper-drive could mean the difference between life and death.

This obscure monster evolution seemed a little less frightening now.

_change in s & n_

Chithagu wagged his tail from side to side, restless with anticipation.

The snowstorm in the elevated planes near Tzen was gone. The feuding between Tzen and Maranda resumed, as did our reconnaissance of their fighting. We'd learned the outcome of the year's first clash between the warring kingdoms. Though Maranda's abrasiveness gave them a fierce edge, Tzen's superior numbers and artillery earned House Virnone a victory in this latest battle. A mixed division of infantry and artillery was en route back to their HQ north of the continent's midpoint.

That was their plan. We had plans of our own, plans to fuck up theirs. We'd not only engage the victors of the skirmish, we'd accomplish something else. The new creations held up to the initial examination. It was time for the test that counted most. After filling some land cruisers with enough creations to rival an elite Tzenish company, some Nyufalng troops, the five Pung Thoshidai, and I rode to a strategic point in the landscape, which the Tzenish survivors would pass through in their trek, and where their victory would become a surprise defeat.

Before us was the trail through the foothills. It passed through a heavily-wooded region. Dense foliage grew on both sides of the path. The trail was also situated between some walls of rock, not high enough to be cliffs, but high enough to trap the enemy once they arrived. The areas of thick, raised-up vegetation offered the perfect cover to sit and wait.

Baokiydu was patient, as he usually was during a mission. Chithagu slowed his wagging tale, happy to stay put and let his small mind do as little thinking as possible. Dyal'xern and Sdalsyra were quiet. Neither egotist nor feminist had a reason for commentary.

However, Qaurjaeda was twiddling his thumbs constantly. The Grav-wielder was getting antsy, something not in character with him. He voiced his own thoughts. "Since this waiting game could carry on even more, what say I liven shit up? How about a new joke?"

"No," answered Baokiydu, glancing through his dark eye at Qaurjaeda.

Dyal'xern was more encouraging. "Sure, why not."

Qaurjaeda produced a smirk, not a cocky one like Dyal'xern's, but still of a self-entertaining nature. "What kind of jacket farts?" He waited for someone to answer. None of us did.

"Spill it," prompted Dyal'xern. Baokiydu frowned, expecting nothing of quality.

"A jacket that farts is a windbreaker." The Grav-wielder prepared for some kudos, but gone none. "What?" he asked.

"That's funny," said Baokiydu, hardly amused. "I think I'm gonna laugh so hard, I'll shit my pants." Of course, he didn't laugh at all.

"You need more practice, my dear Grav-wielder." Dyal'xern wasn't annoyed. In fact, the Air-smasher seemed genuinely entertained, but not as Qaurjaeda had intended. Instead of laughing with the Grav-wielder, Dyal'xern was laughing _at_ him.

Sdalsyra was laughing too. Baokiydu found this irksome. "What? You think he's funny?" he grumbled. "Obviously you would."

The feminist clasped her hands. "Which is funnier, his shitty jokes, or your unimpressed reactions to them?"

The Sensorian was unimpressed alright. He glanced at his three peers before facing Chithagu and I. I stayed quiet, and Chithagu probably didn't even realize Qaurjaeda made an ass of himself. With no backup from me or my 'pet', the grumpy Sensorian reached behind him and pulled some fallen leaves out of his high ponytail. "You know what? Fuck this bore fest. I'll do another auditory scan. That means be quiet until I'm done."

We said nothing. Baokiydu's point was clear, even if made crassly. Excess noise wouldn't allow him to collect accurate results. He knelt down, brushed more dead leaves aside, and touched his right ear to the ground, putting his highly-developed sense of hearing to work. Less than a moment passed before he sat upright. "Tzen's finest are coming. ETA five minutes, tops." He looked at me. "Signal the others."

I pulled the required gadget from my coat pocket. It was a small device, comparable to a flashlight, though it functioned more as a pointer light. I pointed it across the path at the foliage on the other side, where more Nyufalng staff and creations awaited. The pointer light had a few buttons, including one that activated the light and one that changed the color. When silent communication was preferred, we'd use these pointer lights, relying on differing colors and varied flash sequences. With the color fixed on red, I tapped the flash button with a 'they're approaching' signal, followed by another sequence for a 'five minutes or less' message. A tiny white dot blinked from the other greenery patch. The other party had gotten my message, and was standing by.

As if on cue, the sound of marching could be heard. It was followed by the unique thudding of magitek legs stomping the ground. I could discern at least two armors amid this company, an expected occurrence.

This particular area was chosen for more than its high, dense plant growth. It was also a tight bend, which would prove more difficult for retreats than a straightaway path. Also, the trail narrowed after a few yards, easily blocked off. Some old elm trees had served that purpose. Qaurjaeda had bashed them down and piled them across the trail. The magiteks couldn't climb over the pile, and would thus have to stop and somehow destroy it. We'd make that stop permanent, as the creations would do their part while House Virnone's company was preoccupied. Plus, the dam of trees would reveal the armors' weaponry.

The stomping of mechanical feet grew louder, and a pair of walking armor units shambled into view. At least three dozen foot soldiers followed, with two more armor units and a few more squads backing them up. Four armors and about 100 grunts on foot. Tzen's victory was narrow. We'd render it nonexistent.

The company stopped and observed the fallen trees. Qaurjaeda had arranged them to appear as if they'd fallen over in a chain reaction, like a set of dominoes. A leading Officer ordered two of the armors units up front to dispose of the fallen wood. I expected something basic like flamethrowers or fragmentary explosive shells, but these models packed a different kind of punch. I could only see their backsides from my perspective, but that didn't impede my seeing a pale blue glow from their front sides. A low hum and a buzzing noise suggested charge cannons. That sound became a shrill whine, cut off instantly as spherical bursts of energy shot forth. They slammed into the dead trees with a torrent of electrical sparks and flaming wood shards.

Photon cannons. Tzen's techies had been working overtime. If they could charge the weapons even longer, they'd clear the barricade within seconds. Tense, I looked Baokiydu and Dyal'xern. They both gave me affirmative glances. The creations had stayed put this whole time. They could follow orders.

The time had come. I adjusted the pointer light's flash to green and pressed the button, holding it down continuously. As I did, Baokiydu raised his hands and clapped loud. The creations' first test had begun.

They descended from the vegetation on both sides, pouncing upon the nearest troops. The creations outweighed the soldiers, whose armor couldn't protect them against that much force coming from above. As the grunts were crushed beneath assailants twice their mass (at least), other troops yelled and cursed. Foot soldiers drew their weapons and rushed our playmates, but the creations were more than they appeared. Instead of taking hits from lances and broadswords, they used their own natural weapons to parry the soldiers' attacks. This expectedly caused even the 'finest' in House Virnone's army to panic, but the troops didn't let up their efforts. They couldn't cut and run. They were boxed in, dead trees in front, rock walls on the sides, and creations everywhere else.

As another squad's worth of infantrymen got butchered, one of the magitek pilots skillfully maneuvered his unit and aimed at the nearest charging creation. The shot hit directly in the target's face. His…her…_its_...head and shoulders were vaporized by the photon blast, gore splashed in all directions, and the headless body staggered to the ground.

This brought the troops some encouragement, and a man with a huge square shield and a battle axe charged another creation who was engaging the armor from the side. Two grunts with swords joined in, and the trio hacked down another of our playmates.

Despite the two losses, we stayed put. This wasn't our show. The creations held their own against the grunts, and the magiteks' number was halved. The pair up front got sacked from behind, too slow to pull a 180 and face our newcomers.

Large shields and ranged weapons had been tossed aside by the remaining troops. Bow-guns and rifles were impossible to aim fast enough in these tight quarters, and bulky shields hampered movement without offering protection. One man had already been crushed to death under his own tower shield. Despite their bulk, the creations moved with formidable speed.

One more succumbed to a disembowelment wound. The surviving troops had gathered in numbers against each creation, and this rendered the photon cannons useless. The magitek pilots couldn't shoot without hitting their own crew, and had ditched their lumbering mounts to aide their comrades on foot.

Tzen's numbers dwindled. Soldiers and creations perished at a five-to-one ratio respectively. Total loss for House Virnone seemed imminent, but one decorated foot soldier had thrown off his cape and twirled a spiked staff around himself. At last, he stopped the pike windmill and crouched. Why? That put him in a vulnerable position. Maybe Tzen's army really was as brainless as I'd hoped. But nope, the man's crouch was a prelude to something more spectacular. From his kneel, he jumped, a loud _swoosh_ marking his ascent. The man rose up past our level, flipping forward as he peaked near the treetops, and began descending, aiming his pole straight down. With another _swoosh_, his weapon speared a creation—one decidedly female in appearance—completely through the back. Her legs gave way and she unleashed a death scream.

A Dragoon Knight. A foe who didn't need magic or magitek to play on our level.

Another creation rushed the Dragoon. He twirled his pike again. The weapon glowed brightly as its wielder spun it about, charging the creation and meeting it with a left slash that took off its hands, following up with a right slash into its neck. Wispy streaks of light trailed the slashes, until the Dragoon stilled his movements over the prone creation's corpse.

Ruqojjen was very clear in his directives for this mission. We were only to watch and observe, letting the creations take active roles. But the High Shenthaxa did allow for exceptions, and if the creations were outclassed, the rules could be broken.

"He's mine," declared Qaurjaeda as he leapt from the overgrown brush and confronted the Dragoon. "Howdy do, hotshot? C'mon, show me your greatest jump move," he taunted, beckoning the Knight to come closer.

"Demon!" barked the elite soldier. "You TALK? Not matter, feel the power of House Virnone!" He squatted again, charging himself for another mighty leap. As he gathered himself, Qaurjaeda's Pirusymn stone started lighting up. The Dragoon jumped, Qaurjaeda's Pirusymn glowed at its brightest…

…and the Knight came back down, only half completing his jump. But he didn't just land, he crashed and splattered onto the trail. Dirt and blood formed a pale red mist around his body, and a small rugged crater surrounded his remains. The Knight's body was flattened, blood seeping from his ears, nose, eyes, even from under his fingernails as his own body flattened itself under the intensified gravity. Yes, Dragoons could momentarily defy gravity for their signature leap attacks, but only if it was normal level. The immense g-force within Qaurjaeda's micro gravity well proved too much for the knight.

It was over. We'd brought a defeat with no survivors to House Virnone. It only took five minutes. But we couldn't all savor the victory just yet.

Sdalsyra jumped onto the path and went to Qaurjaeda's side. The Grav-wielder looked unsteady, off balance despite using all his legs, rubbing his temples vigorously. His Pirusymn stone no longer emitted that brilliant glow. The Corrodess grabbed his shoulder and helped him steady himself. "What's wrong?"

He took a few ragged breaths before answering. "I knew the demi-black holes were draining, but not _this_ draining." He reclined on his back. Since action wasn't required on our part, none of the Pung Thoshidai had fully fed their essences. Qaurjaeda pulled off a skill for which he hadn't gathered sufficient energy. It drained him, and left him tired.

As he took a breather, the present Nyufalng soldiers assessed the death toll, compiling the data for Yithadri and Ruqojjen. The Dragoon was excluded since he was dead from Qaurjaeda, not the creations. But excluding him, the results were 103 dead Tzenish troops, four dismantled magitek units, and only eight dead creations. We'd not even lost half the number we'd originally brought. The creations had passed their test.

Our troops were gathering the dead creations and bringing them back to the land cruiser. The surviving ones were heading back upon receiving orders. If Tzenish or Marandan scouts happened upon this scene, we wanted to keep them guessing. Dyal'xern and Baokiydu were hauling a larger corpse, and I led Chithagu down to the carnage, where he took hint, pulled another corpse onto his back, and followed the others.

The cleanup was nearly finished when Qaurjeada regained his bearings. "Next time, try feeding your essence before attempting that black hole technique," I advised.

"Unless you like being dazed and drained," joked Sdalsyra. "It appears we'll be sleeping separately this evening."

"And delay the 'wheelbarrow' position once again? I don't think so." He stood up straight, his legs no longer shaking. "I just need to expel some gas bubbles and I'll be fine."

"Now you're onto something," said Dyal'xern, having returned from a land cruiser to collect the last dead creation. "If you want to pursue comedy, keep your mouth shut and let your ass do the talking. Your fart jokes have always been your forte."

"Or maybe try this," snorted Baokiydu grouchily. "Sit on a fence picket and shut your ass the fuck up."


	19. Shadowy Horizons

**Chapter 19: Shadowy Horizons**

My blitz training progressed nicely. Sabin had a knack for teaching in a way that could be understood without having to second-guess his terms and concepts. Hell, the man was so lucid, a grade-schooler would have no problems following his directions. Unlike some old fart of a professor I once had at Narshe's mining and industrial academy, Sabin was quick and too the point, sometimes even literal. And he'd already commended my abilities on learning quickly.

Quick-learner that I was, Sabin acknowledged it was time for the blitz's more spectacular techniques. Instead of training in the main dojo room, the master took me to the outside yard. "Messes are easier to clean up if they're made out here," Sabin reasoned.

I rubbed my fingers over the broad sides of my axe's blade. "So I'm gonna make a nasty mess?"

He smiled, but shook his head. "I said _if_, Leonard. If. I don't know what you'll accomplish. It's all on you. I presume nothing."

Not only did I have some new blitz knowledge to explore, I still had that pending second date with Terra. New facts awaited me on the topic of espers and their subjugation to Imperial control freaks. Despised as the magical beings were, it wasn't so obvious that they too were victims of a totalitarian reign. The frozen esper in Narshe really hadn't done anything wrong. Those who hunted it were the ones crossing the line. Some of those who'd excavated it from the mines were also guilty as such.

With Sabin's blitz knowledge on one hand, and Terra's esper knowledge on the other, a certain topic that once dominated my thoughts was almost completely forgotten. I'd reached a new conclusion.

Maybe Jrysthovuh didn't exist at all.

After learning the blitz fighting style didn't have Jrysthovuhn roots and that I wasn't at all mistaken about the Ts'aosra'iy's content, I'd reasoned that Jrysthovuh itself was a mere legend and rumor, one that remarkably withstood the test of time.

There was nothing to disprove this. I'd never met anyone who fluently spoke the Jrysthovuhn language, claimed Jrysthovuhn ancestry, or even understood me when I discussed the topic. Mentioning the society in any manner brought me nothing but ridicule, and it was immediately forgotten soon after.

If Jrysthovuh was so isolated and cut off from the outside world for centuries as rumors claimed, the nation would be in real deep shit sooner or later. It wouldn't matter how large each generation was. Eventually, bloodlines would run scarce after intermingling, and with none coming in from outside, incest and inbreeding would be inevitable. The means of preventing this would have consequences of its own, ones that bore the same end result. To keep bloodlines fresh would mean having excessively large families, each generation bearing more children than the last. This would cause massive over-population no matter how large the land mass, and would instigate conflicts of all sorts. Struggles over food, land, and other vital resources would become so ferocious and commonplace that peace could only be attained through the entire country's demise. Political stability wouldn't mean shit when hazards of disease and starvation took hold.

No nation could exist in such an isolated state forever. If Jrysthovuh did exist at some point, it was likely a ruined wasteland now, a shadow of its former self, assuming it was real in the first place. Rumors could circulate and grow, with more and more conjecture embellishing them until volumes worth of material were complied. The fables that were most repeated and long-lasting became 'official'.

Jrysthovuh was either just a long-standing myth or a piece of history irrelevant in the present world. The Ts'aosra'iy was a spectacular chunk of art and entertainment, but nothing more.

"What's so new about this blitz move?" I asked. I could only deduce that it was vastly beyond anything I'd learned so far. It's not easy to expect the unexpected.

"Weaponry arts, putting it mildly," Sabin claimed. He pointed to a large hunk of granite across from us. "You'll cut a piece from that rock over there."

"Okay. I once worked in a mine. I'm no stranger to breaking rocks" 

"Without physically touching it," he added, smirking.

"Oh." I was silent, trying to conceive his implications. "Does that mean a weapon toss?"

The smirked melted. "Sabin Rene Figaro never boasts without hard facts to support his boastings. But I'll gladly spell it out. You'll transmit the energy of a weapon strike into an aura that travels a distance to the target in question."

Now it made sense. "Gotcha. Like tossing waves of force _from_ the axe, not throwing the axe itself."

He gave me a soft back pat. "If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times. You catch on with lightning speed."

"Damn right, though this…slash aura sounds easier said than done."

The wise blitz master was already prepared for this. "We're all rookies at some point Leonard. Even my brother was born ignorant, and he's one of most educated people in this world."

"Shhh. Don't say that too loudly. If you pull the King down to the commoners' level, his political power is lost, and the greatest nation of Sayitheren goes to hell on a one-way train." I was sarcastic for the most part, but not entirely. Some things aren't meant to be overheard.

Edgar's brother scratched his head and bit his lip. "Erm…right," he said in a lower voice. "Enough boasting. Focus on the rock."

The piece of granite was shaped like a juniper bush, though its color and texture said otherwise. "Yup, that's a rock. What next?"

"First you must build up the energy in the weapon, your axe in this case," instructed Sabin. As though reading my mind, he added, "You need to really focus your mind into your piece. Concentrate, and believe that your weapon is an extension of yourself."

_I'm an axe,_ came that ever critical voice in my head. _Screw this up and I'll be a total axe-hole._

Jokes had their place and time. It wasn't now. My hands tightened on the axe's handle. I stood there, gazing at my weapon, clueless if I was doing this self-to-arsenal exercise correctly.

"Now look at the rock." Sabin was at step two before I'd perfected step one.

"Am I doing it right?" It was pointless to move on if I couldn't get past the beginning stage.

"How should I know? You're doing the technique, not me." Sabin's response was hardly reassuring.

"I don't know that. Should I feel something I would not otherwise?" My stare was fixed on the granite chunk. I could make out a vague face in the lumps and grooves upon its surface. It looked like a funny face, taunting me to break it into cat litter. Maybe that could stir up motivation. "But I see the rock, and want to break it."

"Good. You've fixed your target. Go!"

At Sabin's word, lifted the axe to shoulder level and swung down with my full strength. The axe blade swooshed down and buried itself in the soil of the dojo yard. However, the granite was unchanged. "No dice."

"Just focus more. Use every ounce of imagination you have. And I know you have plenty."

His words of wisdom left me with more questions. Was that all it took, fantasizing? For 'sophisticated' blitz techniques, that sounded too basic. If that was so, a child could demolish the rock just by imagining such.

I wasted several moments, conjuring up images of the rock shattering in every which way I could. I even added sound effects mentally, just so the image would become more realistic. But it remained as it started, imaginary.

My inactivity didn't go unnoticed by Sabin. "It all starts in the weapon. You've got to bring the weapon into your metaphysical self. Just wielding it won't be enough. You need to give a sentience, a piece of your feeling, and make that sentience join you spiritually."

Again, I stared at my weapon, as though it had eyes with which it could stare back. I tried, for lack of a better expression, to 'get inside' the axe and make it a piece of myself. Was I getting somewhere slowly or going nowhere fast? _I'm an axe,_ repeated my inner voice, this time without bullshitting.

"You need to generate something for the weapon to receive Leonard. Breathe deeply at an increasing pace, get your blood flowing, radiate the energy which you can transfer." At last, Sabin gave substantial tips on this weapon aura move. It was a start, and I ran with it. I wasn't hyperventilating, but breathed heavily and fast enough to boost my pulse and feel myself warm up, a decisive benefit in this not-so warm weather.

Moments later, I felt not only myself radiating, but the weapon too. The axe was growing warm, conducting my spirit energy, perhaps _bonding_ with me and sharing my thoughts.

"You're golden," declared Sabin, "well, figuratively, at least. Try it now."

A step forward, another vertical swing…and another lack of weapon energy bursting from the axe blade. But this time was different. I could feel the axe pulsating in my hands, as if to ask, _more energy._

Sabin's hand came to my shoulder. "Damn, no luck again. Maybe try some mediation before…"

"Hold up." Normally, I wouldn't interrupt my blitz master, but with my energy running like so, I just couldn't restrain myself. "I think a little more charging time should do it."

"Okay, on you." Sabin stepped back, providing the swinging room I needed. I 'gave' the axe more of myself. Now to unleash the swing's energy at the rock.

One last breath. Slowly and deliberately, I raised the weapon, stared down the granite sample, exhaled…and chopped downward. The axe lit up, shining in a brilliant pale blue as its blade cut the dirt once more. But that wasn't the main attraction. A defined flash of light shot forward, its color the perfect blend of ice blue and radiant silver. Glittering sparks trailed this miniscule shooting star. A shrill whistling noise came with it, a noise like those pulley-operated steam whistles used in trains and factories.

Then came the collision. The blue-silver flash hit the brown and tan piece of granite dead center and dissolved into itself. The whistling faded abruptly, with the crackling noise of shattered stone replacing it. A crude crack etched its way down the stone's face, with small fragments coming loose as the crack reached across the granite's surface. It was a fantastic, invigorating, sight…and last one I saw before the world itself dissolved into a haze of black nothingness.

I came to, only now just realizing that I'd lost it in the first place. This time however, I regained consciousness in the exact same place were I'd blacked out. The world slowly returned from its blurry state as I blinked my eyes. The first visual was the gray-clouded sky overhead. I could feel the soft ground under my back, the result of a lengthy drizzle the previous day. My trusty axe lay on its side at my feet, and further away was a piece of granite. A huge gash covered its surface, and several smaller pieces lay scattered around its base.

A large hand reached for my own. "Leonard? You back with me now?"

I sat up at the mention of my name. "Sabin?" There he was, kneeling beside me. "How long was I out?"

"About twenty seconds. Not long enough to indicate serious damage, but long enough to cause me concern."

"Twenty seconds," I repeated. "Ouch. What do you mean by serious damage? I didn't inflict any on myself…right?"

"No," he shook his head. "Fortunately not. But you obviously strained yourself, and fainted from overexertion." He reached for my hand, and I let him help me up without objection. "You know, you're sweating an awful lot. You realize that?"

Until Sabin mentioned such, I hadn't. I was a little moistened, but I presumed that was from lying on the damp dirt. However, my forehead and chest were drenched, and they'd not been pressed to the ground like my back. "So I really did push myself. Is this an after effect of the technique?"

"Of course not." He laughed once before getting back to business. "You see, all that blood flow and concentration put a strain on your body. You put so much into your weapon, you had little to spare for yourself. Upon releasing it via the weapon swing, you had nothing to retain consciousness."

I felt dizzy, as the strain hadn't subsided. "Maybe we should call it a day."

"I couldn't agree more. Let's get you some water." I followed Sabin inside the training room and over to the fridge in the corner. He pulled a pitcher from the top shelf, filled a tall glass with it, and offered it to me. I took a massive gulp.

Sabin pulled a table over to the bench along the wall. "Since you're here, have a seat. I've got a question for you."

"Yeah?"

He sat down across from me at the round mahogany table. "You planning a follow up meet with Terra? Don't let the momentum from the last one fade. Use it to help build up for number two."

"It's on my mind, but so are a few other things. I promised Joe I'd give him a little tour of Narshe."

The sensei lifted his eyebrows. "So you've finally met him?"

"Yeah. Last week during a little stroll in the forest. I recognized him, and repeated your suggestion about meeting in person. He's looking for a new place to live, once he gets settled financially. I elected was tour guide on the spot. You were right. He does connect with me very well."

The blitz master snapped his finger for emphasis. "See. Just like I told you. The man's choice of tour guides cannot be topped, mind you. So when will you show him the hot spots?"

I took another sip, a smaller one as the bulk of my thirst had already been quenched. "On his next night off. I went looking for him yesterday, and learned he was out visiting a sick friend, so I left a note for him. When he's available, he'll meet me at the train stop near the farm, at the time I finish my shift. I'm usually done by early evening, so my nights are free."

Sabin nodded. "It's a solid plan. You should put that kind of thought into meeting up with Terra again. Stop by here periodically, even when you're not training. She might be here. It's a chance to meet and greet, and set more concrete plans."

"Sure." I finished off the glass of water. "If I wish to spare my energy, I should be going."

"Okay. But a word of advice. Man up or fall down. The blitz will just get more spectacular from here, and I can't have you passing out during every lesson. If that happens in the midst of a brawl, your enemies won't like you very much. You'll be _too easy_ to kill."

"Enemies don't like you regardless. Playing easy victim is one of the few times they'd actually thank you for anything," I added half-sarcastically.

"Just try some breathing exercises whenever you're just sitting at home. It puts free time to wonderful use, and helps you get prepped for the next session on opening a can of whoop-ass…without having it explode in your face." The wise blitz master offered yet another tidbit of useful knowledge. "I would also recommend a hot bath. After sweating profusely and collapsing onto the damp soil, you're not going to smell like flowers."

I grabbed my jacket and pulled it on. "I'll take note of that."

"Alright. But still, congrats on partially turning that granite sample into a rock garden. The remaining section is for next time. So get that rest. It will only demand more of your concentration from here." We bid each other farewell and I left the dojo, waiting for the train to Narshe at the nearest train stop.

To think I once held a special interest in Jrysthovuh, all without ever experiencing any part of the culture. I still hadn't, since the blitz didn't have any connection to that society. But with the blitz as a practice and not just an interest, I could forget all about Jrysthovuh. All things considered, there was likely nothing to experience on that topic.

_change in s & n_

Locke and I greeted the castle guards as we edged through the crowd in Figaro Castle's entry hall. Munitions workers, merchants, and other castle personnel crisscrossed our path in all directions. Despite the pushy crowd, we reached the courtyard.

"You sure he's back?" Locke asked me from over his shoulder.

"His boss told us he was only taking one day of leave, and that was yesterday. So yeah, he'll be around."

"But here?" Locke eyed the open courtyard, less packed than the hall. "If he's on break right now, would he not be somewhere else?"

The courtyard had exits on all four sides. Those on the south led to the entry hall, where we'd just been. The ones on the north led into the main section of the castle, with the throne room, the market, the conference room, the observation tower, and the personal quarters. The exits to the east led to the library and guest suites, while those to the west led into the dining hall and kitchen. "He works here, and the dining staff preps some of the best cuisine in this town. He needn't wander far to grab a filling lunch, and he gets it free of charge as a castle merchant. Use your street smarts and do the math Locke." He didn't have any disagreements. We headed for the western wing of the castle.

It took a moment to find him. Joe was seated by himself at one of the dining room's long tables. Before him was a plate of toast and fish sticks, a cup of soup, and a mug of steaming hot coffee. In one hand was a slice of the buttered toast, in the other, the day's local newspaper. As he folded it up and flipped the page, he noticed us. "Locke and Celes. Here to pay your tribute?"

"Yes, just not to you." Locke's humor brought smiles as we pulled out chairs and took seats with the peddler.

"So what brings you to my humble presence?" asked Joe before downing a bite of toast with a spoonful of soup.

Locke flexed his fingers. "I've been meaning to ask you this for a while, but haven't found you during our visits here."

"Oh. In that case, ask away." Joe paused eating a fish stick so he'd be more attentive.

"You said you once lived in Quildern. Where in Quildern is your old place?" Locke asked his special question, which he'd shared with me various times. For me, it was expected.

And on some level, Joe must've anticipated it as well. "Hmm. I wondered if you'd ask, being that my past is certainly less fabulous than your own. But it's normal to wonder, since we shared the town. I used to live in Mondelagry Park, on the eastern edge of the city."

I thought nothing of Joe's old residence, but Locke was rather unimpressed. "You mean that rustic old neighborhood where senior citizens vote against building sidewalks every year?"

I sent Locke a frown, not sure of he was just playing around or genuinely criticizing Joe's previous dwelling. Joe however, was hardly concerned. "It wasn't that bad. Until you've spent days on end trapped in a Zozo basement, beaten, starved, and freezing cold, you should reserve judging a residential district so negatively."

Locke was silent, but I had some words of commendation for the everyman. "Your optimism is amazing Joe. That's a very good way of putting stuff into perspective. We've been to Zozo ourselves more than once, so we understand what you're talking about. Don't we Locke?"

He tugged at his jacket collar. "Y-yeah. Mondelagry Park is not a Zozoan slum. It provides a great view of the mountains, as it sits right on their base. Anyways, we live in the Thrawning District of central Quildern."

Joe took another bite of his fish sticks. I had a question of more importance than his old neighborhood. "How's your friend? The leading jewel merchant told us you were visiting a sick friend yesterday."

"Oh him?" Joe drank more coffee. "He's stable, but hardly recovered. He was lethargic most of the time, but he knew I was there."

The merchant implied his friend was ill with some serious malady. "What's his ailment?" I asked softly and sympathetically.

"Well…it's," Joe ate the last of his fish sticks and toast. "It's nothing we need to discuss."

His evasiveness was expected. I left well enough alone. Unfortunately, Locke's curiosity about Joe's friend wouldn't let him keep his mouth shut. "There's no need for secrecy here Joe. We're Returners, so you can disclose such information with us."

I felt my lips sagging, and Joe reacted as I though he would. He grabbed the newspaper and unfolded it between himself and Locke, as if building a wall to keep out Locke's unwanted curiosity. "Does it really matter? It's a need-to-know basis, my dear Returner, and you certainly don't need the info on my friend's disease."

The paper separated Joe from Locke, but not from me. I noticed Joe wasn't smiling now. Locke had crossed over into personal territory for reasons I couldn't grasp. Maybe I'd placed too much emphasis on Locke's street smarts. A wiser man would've taken the obvious hints and changed the subject, but Locke insisted on asking yet again. "Is it really something to keep under the table as such?"

The urge to grapple and twist his hand was brewing full-scale. I almost reached for Locke's wrist to dissuade him from pursuing the issue further, as I doubted the commoner merchant would be so direct. But with a surprise move I didn't foresee, the jewel merchant folded his newspaper, slammed it against the tabletop, and stared wide-eyed at Locke. "Yes." His voice was a little more intense, a much different tone than his defense of Mondelagry Park. "A meal table is the worst possible setting to discuss Tapeworm."

"Eeww…ghhhh…" Locke reached down for his gut and made some additional gagging noises. It served him right. He never should've pushed for the answer when Joe wasn't up for giving it. Talks regarding ills of the stomach and digestive tract have no place at a meal. "I…just ate," grunted Locke.

"Well, you asked, and my evasion wasn't satisfying you, so don't complain when you get the answer." Joe scraped his spoon around the soup cup, gathering the last of its contents. His unforeseen response had served its purpose, but I would still give Locke some admonishing of my own.

"My thoughts exactly," I chimed in.

Joe immediately changed the subject, a wise move. "Last week, I was exploring the hills that overlook Narshe. I met your associate Leonard, and he's offered to show me around. I may consider moving there, since I can't dwell in this castle forever."

"Why not just move back to Quildern?" I asked. "You're familiar with it already."

"Why stay put when I can go forward?" Joe swallowed some coffee. "Quildern was pleasant, but I hear Narshe's more my style. Leonard said that Narshe might have a gemstone demand."

"Sounds like you've got a solid plan of action," added Locke, no longer hung up on Joe's ill friend.

"And I'll put it into practice, sooner or later." Joe glanced at his watch and stood up. "Okay, break time's over. I need to shove. But do come around again. See ya'."

Joe left the dining room. When he was gone, I grabbed Locke's wrist and twisted it, not enough to dislocate bones, but enough to surely get his attention. "Oh! Hey! Celes, what gives?"

"What the hell is your problem?" I demanded, keeping my hold. "Why did you push the question about Joe's friend, a question he was _obviously_ not looking to answer?"

"I…I just…you know…was curious. I'm concerned, that's all."

"You acted more intrusive than sensitive. The illness of Joe's friend is personal information. He avoided the topic for that very reason."

Locke sighed and blinked in confusion. "I didn't think I was prying into such details."

I loosened my grip a little. "But Joe felt that way. What's it to you if his friend has Tapeworm, Dysentery, or some other disease? Why are the specifics that important to you?"

Locke fingered his lips using his free hand. He'd not thought about this question. "I just wanted to help the man. Joe's not in good spirits regarding this friend's health. I care, and wanted to show it."

"You're right about Joe's spirits, but asking invasive questions like that won't do him any good."

"I only wanted to help." Locke sounded a little defensive.

"I know that, and I praise you for it." I let go of his wrist and took his hand. "You're an imperfect man, Locke Cole, but you're no idiot. Your sense of duty and helping others truly showcases your valor, but sometimes you take this duty too far and see nothing else. You get the tunnel vision habit, and fail to notice that what you do is not accomplishing what you hoped."

"But to give is to be selfless, and to be selfless is to earn dignity. Cyan told me that once."

"Yes. The Doma Knight's influence has rubbed off on you more so than any of us in recent times. And I realize you meant no harm in asking. Even if you wish to help, you still should lay off when circumstances require it. At times, the better part of valor is discretion." I stroked his hand, confident that he understood my perspective. I had nothing against Locke for trying to offer Joe some consolation, but Joe's defensive attitude was inevitable when asked of private matters. Knowing that Joe looked up to us, I understood why he acted that way. A Returner was treading on private ground, and Joe believed Locke was more sensitive than that. When he was proven otherwise, disgust and disappointment were natural reactions.

That was the reason for Joe's evasiveness. A close friend's Tapeworm is something better left hidden.

_change in s & n_

Ruqojjen and I passed dozens of Nyufalng troops in the corridors of the palace. They greeted and acknowledge us, but the greetings remained casual. There were no salutes, no rising and standing at attention. Ruqojjen deemed such behavior pointless, strict without any purpose. Discipline was easily maintained without incorporating useless rigidities. The Jrysthovuhn Council was harsh and anal with imposing such rituals, and equally obscene penalties when those practices were ignored.

Disposing of such useless shit was among the Nyufalng's very first tenants. It brought hope and imagination to the people, but the Council resented such. They set out to crush anything that even remotely symbolized a threat to their bossy authority. Does it take much imagination to guess where things unfolded from there?

We entered the conference room. Inside were Baokiydu and Dyal'xern, the former arranging colored shapes on a magnetized map of Albrooker territory, the latter thumbing through a stack of paperwork and glossy photographs before glancing up to see us. "Ah, you're both here. Perfect." He presented Ruqojjen with the papers. "Here's the beef, Chief."

The 'chief' said nothing, but smiled and took the docs. He was most interested in the photographs. They displayed the aftermath of yet another Tzen vs. Maranda gore fest .The bulk the casualties were Marandan; the dead wore the uniform and colors of Marandan troops. Another group of pictures showed a different army, very much alive and on the march. Details were grainy, but it was clear this living army wasn't Marandan. Ruqojjen scanned the printed pages, and compared them to the photographs. "A decisive win, I presume?"

"You presume correct, as usual." Dyal'xern acknowledged, praising another with ego boosts he often reserved for himself. Not that he didn't make generous exceptions, they were just few and far between. "Tzen won this fight on a very wide margin. They just tore apart the Marandans with their Imperial-type artillery. That's not all. Tzen is on the move, and they're not going home to celebrate quite yet. They're headed completely in the other direction." Dyal'xern pointed over his shoulder, where Baokiydu was organizing a pattern of red magnets on the map. Red was the color we'd designated to represent Tzenish forces.

Ruqojjen and I stepped up to examine the cartographic image more closely. Various red shapes were clustered amid Heindroll's Pass, the gap between the ruins of the Tarpakeus and Logrius mountain ranges. Northwest of Heindroll's, a few yellow magnets were sparsely scattered. Yellow was the color designated to Marandan forces, and most of these magnets were shaped like semi-circles, with a few squares tossed in. Colors represented alignment, while shapes indicated the size of a group. Half-circles were used for the smallest groups of note, squad-level parties. Squares were the next smallest group symbol, representing companies and small platoons. The Yellow magnets had no central mass, indicating Maranda's armies dispersed upon this defeat. The few survivors were retreating on separate routes.

The red magnets told a very different story for Tzen. Different shapes were placed in the mountain pass, trapezoids and diamonds. Those shapes signified larger parties, like multiple platoons or a battalion. Tzen's losses were minimal, especially compared to Marandan fatalities.

Heindroll's Pass was south of the latest battlefield. Tzen was to the north. And the retreating Marandans were northwest of the red magnets. House Virnone's army wasn't regrouping at home or chasing down the surviving enemy. They had other plans.

"I won't spell it out," said Baokiydu, tapping the red magnet cluster. "This visual display offers all the explicit details better than words ever could."

"Tzen kicks Marandan ass and neither gives chase nor returns to HQ." Ruqojjen summed up the data, both on the map and in the documents. "From the numbers here, I'd say at least one brigade is nestled amid Heindroll's Pass."

His assessment prompted Baokiydu to rearrange the magnet clump. The Sensorian removed a couple diamonds and replaced them with an oval, the shape designated for brigade-sized forces. "Tzen's out for conquest, and after beating down Maranda's hide, they'll go for the next closest target."

"Surrogate home sweet Albrook," Dyal'xern concluded.

Our initial strategy, to wait out each battle and mop up the surviving victors, was certainly a practical one. But it had some loopholes. It didn't factor in the possibility of Tzen or Maranda targeting Albrook before each other, or one side dominating the other and coming our way next, as was the case here.

I stared at the red shapes that signified at least 5,000 Imperial loyalists eager to revive their defunct superpower. "The time is upon us once again."

"More parasites to exterminate, and more blood for the Divine." Baokiydu's gravelly voice radiated an excitement that, hopefully, would keep him out of his usual temper-driven bad moods. The grouch was more often restless when awaiting a mission, not when prepping for one.

Ruqojjen tapped his index finger against a particular spot on the map, a few miles south of the Tzenish force. "Culmstropp. They'll establish a temporary base in the ghost town, before heading towards our doorstep." Culmstropp had once been a town of Albrook, located on the city-state's northern limits, at the base of the Logrius Mountains. The armies of Albrook's defunct House took it in their rush to establish Albrook as leader of the southern continent. Most of the town's residents either fled, were killed, or worse yet, got enslaved to serve nobility that would use them for its own power-mongering. Now, Culmstropp was abandoned, though its homes and buildings were still intact, and would provide a short-term outpost for the Tzenish army in their march southward.

"How much time before they ring our doorbell?" Dyal'xern asked.

"They'll rest in Culmstropp, but not for long, a day tops," surmised Ruqojjen as he traced a hypothetical path from the deserted city to our location. "They'll move south, across the rugged Kavaryts Lowlands. The advancement of their magitek units will be hampered by the lowlands' uneven terrain, but they'll march through, slow but steady. I estimate they'll be here in ten days or less."

"Ten days," repeated Dyal'xern. "Do we lay in wait and ambush at the precise moment, or get their attention and reroute them to a more strategic location?"

"First things first. We take inventory of our resources, and a head count of our numbers with the skills for such an operation." Ruqojjen passed the docs and photos to Baokiydu. "Bring these to Yithadri, and ask her to take inventory on the blood bank. We'll need more creations for this pre-emptive strike. Also check about augmenting the wounded who need such."

"Right." Baokiydu took the papers with one hand, and reached behind him with the other. "I'll try walking across town in the process. I could use the exercise. I've been sitting on recon ops for so long that my ass feels all cramped. I almost feel constipated."

Dyal'xern's lips arched into a mischievous grin. "Maybe a walk's not what you need. A simple enema will soothe your anal agony. I think the pharmacy's having a special today."

Baokiydu turned and glared at the tall Air-smasher. The Sensorian's bad temper still thrived. Baokiydu chose the _worst _possible retort. "Up yours Dyal'xern!"

Too late. No sooner had that response rolled off his tongue did Baokiydu realize his poor choice of words. He flat-palmed his face, and Dyal'xern waved a finger mockingly. "No no no. Up _yours_. You're the one with the ass cramps, remember?"

Though his fuse was notoriously short, Baokiydu's intelligence quotient was high enough so that he'd not repeat a mistake seconds after making one, no matter how grumpy he was. "I'm going to Yithadri's. I'll see you around," he mumbled before hastily walking out of the conference room.

Typically, the High Shenthaxa wore a stoic, emotionless expression, but he did allow himself a brief smile of entertainment. "Dyal'xern, is that really necessary?"

The Air-smasher cocked an eyebrow. "Grumpy could learn more patience. I'm just quoting you."

Another grin on the Nyufalng founder's part. "You really think he'll learn patience from you, especially like that?"

"Why the hell not? I'm grand, great, and special, a real hit with the groupies." Dyal'xern stroked his ego yet again.

Ruqojjen's vague smile persisted. There was trick up his sleeve, I could tell. "If you're so great and special, why not try leading this movement. You'll need to issue directives, read reports, oversee training drills…you get the idea. It means giving up some of those weekly cluster fucks with the groupies."

"Hell no!" Dyal'xern put his hands up.

"But didn't you just claim greatness?" I teased. "Surely you could be a great leader."

"Fuck that shit. That's too high a cost." He displayed a much different kind of greatness. Dyal'xern could actually laugh off jokes aimed at him. Even if he was taken down a few pegs, he always managed to find the humor in it. His academic knowledge was limited when compared with Baokiydu's, but Dyal'xern had patience which the Sensorian lacked, patience that was widely considered a pre-requisite for any worthy leader.

Ruqojjen's humored smile vanished. He was back to business. "Find Sdalsyra and Qaurjaeda, and brief them with updates on Tzen's activity. Also check in with Yithadri if she requires assistance."

"Sure thing, oh _true _leader." Dyal'xern left to find the others, happier to take directives instead of issuing them.

The High Shenthaxa placed a hand on my shoulder. "Ajalni, to answer your earlier question, we did hear from Morris. He picked up right where he left off last time, with some additional news too. If you'd like to know the details, you can view a full transcript in the radio tower." I'd been wondering about Morris for a week or so. I'd check the details later, as right now there was a load of paperwork to sort and clean up.

Various other documents were spread out on the conference table. Ruqojjen and I collected and organized them into the appropriate categories. As we compiled one folder worth of data on the creations, the doors opened behind me. Ruqojjen set aside the creation data and asked, "Did you forget some…oh, greetings."

I turned and met the eyes of a shaggy haired young man in a plate armor vest over a leather coat. He was older than me, but young relatively speaking, twenty or twenty-one years at most. "Greetings to you, Ajalni, High Shenthaxa. I've never actually gotten to speak with either of you in person before, but if there's a time for such, it is now. Dyal'xern briefed us on Tzen's latest move out in the hallway. I have an axe to grind, and the urge to share it, if you've the time to listen, that is."

The Shenthaxa gathered more papers into a stack. "As leader of this movement, I don't have constant free time, but I can make time for something if it's truly important. Since you know us both already, introduce yourself."

The youth carried a compact bow-gun over his shoulder, and hanging from his belt were a round shield and a short sword. "Corporal Ambrose Guellad. I came here after fleeing Tzen two years back."

Ambrose's face remained stiff, but I could tell he was withholding an emotion or two. "From Tzen?" I repeated with less objectivity.

The Corporal's face softened up, no longer a mask of stone. "Yes, from Tzen. It all started when our neighborhood was subjugated. House Virnone was quick to establish its own seat of power in the months following Palazzo's death. Their manifesto was to rebuild and get Tzen back into civility and order, but that's what they _said_. What they did was set up _their_ personal definition of order, which was more authoritarian than orderly. They imposed various regulations, curfews, trade and transit limits, and the like, rules which bore the greatest punishment for even the slightest disobedience."

"Sound like the Jrysthovuhn Council," I said empathetically.

"And it gets worse". The Corporal's voice was gradually losing its emotionless tone. "The army shut down my father's pottery business and put him to work in a magitek weapons factory. Of course, they gave him no training in safety precautions, and he soon wounded himself on the job, impaling his hand twice with an automated rivet gun. Instead of tending to his injury, the soldiers beat him, breaking his leg, and threatened to break his other arm if he didn't… 'shape up'.

"Never expect logic from tyrants," said Ruqojjen. "For all the education nobility bears in theory, they're constantly fucking up in practice."

"That's not all," growled the young soldier. "They later shut down mom's bakery and forced her into another profession, as a god…damned…stripper."

We both cringed. Though her Girl Power motto served the Nyufalng well, I was happy that Sdalsyra wasn't around to hear Ambrose's tale. The stripper part would aggravate her beyond necessity.

"Mom was no conservative. She rarely went a day without swearing casually, but getting forced into pole-dancing was an embarrassing torture for her. And she never even got the money. The troops collected it all to help fund the war efforts. All these fucking talks of 'order' were a sham. They wanted us kept in order so they could revel in chaotic anarchy, free to oppress and demean." He grit his teeth, and settled down enough to continue. "Before long, the military began its conscription. We had no intention of fighting under the House's cause, so we fled, or tried to. The House imposed the death penalty for deserters. My folks died from a hail of arrows during our rush for freedom, and while my hemophiliac brother survived his arrow wound, he bled to death shortly after. I was left to carry on with handfuls of other refugees. I joined them in their exodus south."

Ambrose paused. His words did not betray any emotion this time. This was a man who'd long since numbed himself to the grim fate of his family and homeland. There were no tears for him to shed at this point, and his heart was already dead from heartache. I could only guess how much Ambrose wasn't disclosing to us, but he disclosed enough to make his point. However, I still didn't understand one specific part. "Why did you flee here to Albrook?"

"Sireck and Edrina were non-Imperials, and House Virnone spoke ill of Albrooker politics." The young Corporal stared out the window for a moment. "This suggested that Albrook was a threat to Tzenish authority, and, I desperately hoped, a safe haven."

"Ha." Ruqojjen's laugh was clearly forced. "You were right to consider Albrook an enemy of Tzen, but it was hardly a safe haven for peasants and middle-class civilians. Non-Imperial doesn't equal non-oppressive."

"Yeah. I learned that hard way. Upon arrival, it became all to clear that Sireck and Edrina were planning conquest and imperializing of their own. Once we entered, there was no way out. The army hunted us down and threatened to kill us if we resisted. Our little refugee group was cornered less than a day after entering the city limits. All seemed lost, but then, a chain of unprecedented miracles happened."

"What?" I asked. There were silver linings in Ambrose's tale, and I was anxious to hear them.

"Our pursuers were ambushed and slaughtered, and I mean _dismembered_. It was a fantastic sight that empowered me and the others. Noble armies were just as fragile and vulnerable as ourselves, and could suffer deaths more gruesome than ones they caused." I exchanged a look of anticipation with the High Shenthaxa. We both knew where Ambrose would take his story next, but we let him finish, if only to get all the details. "Some local movement had killed off the soldiers of the House. And I could not believe what happened as they made an appearance," he went on. "One of them called my name in a voice I'd not heard for a couple years. She took her mask off and…I still couldn't believe it. My uncle's ex-wife had been one of our surprise rescuers. I knew she'd moved here after the divorce, but I never thought I'd see her again, surely not under these circumstances." That was a completely unexpected twist, for me at least. I doubted that even Ruqojjen would've predicted it. Ambrose had certainly been caught off guard.

"A family reunion, of sorts," commented the Shenthaxa. "What happened after your little reintroduction?"

The hardened youth smiled genuinely for the first time. "She told me about some organization that would, among other worthy objectives, take any and all necessary means to crush the post-Palazzo tyrants. It was the first time I'd heard the name 'Nyufalng'. It sure as hell wouldn't be the last."

"And you've been among us ever since," I presumed, knowing the answer before receiving it.

"Yeah. Interestingly, I've grown closer to my estranged Aunt Lonette in ways I didn't experience prior to the divorce. We both participated in the assault which took down the House right here in this political district. And if there's a time to show what I'm truly made of, it's now, in the approaching counterstrike on the Tzenish march. I've been holding a grudge for two years, waiting every day to let loose with fury on the forces of House Virnone. I vowed they'd suffer my rage, and I'll fulfill that vow."

"That's expected, but in one respect, you should be careful," advised Ruqojjen with a serious, but not quite stoic face. "The lust for revenge can become an addiction, and that makes you predictable to your enemies, once they come to expect it."

"I'm not out for vengeance per se," explained the Corporal. "I understand that no amount of brutality and carnage will bring back my deceased family. But I don't plan on killing Tzenish troops for them. I'm doing it for myself, to ensure my future, so that I won't share the fate of my parents and brother. Bloodshed will bring me that much."

Ambrose drew his buckler and sword and assumed a combat stance. The shield was built in the traditional Albrooker 'wagon wheel' design. "I once heard a saying about wartime," he said while gazing at his reflection in the sword's blade. "You have a life that awaits your return. Don't throw your life away recklessly. Whoever said that was blind, and has never walked in my shoes. I have nothing. My dear family is dead, and House Virnone crushed my dreams even before the great collapse. Today, if I want any future worth having, the only option is to fight, kill, and possibly die for it."

He swung the shield in an uppercut motion and followed it with a straight thrust of the sword. "I'm not afraid of death. I will embrace it, embody it. To the Tzen troops, I will _become_ death."

"I can sense your heart and soul burn with resolution," acknowledged the Nyufalng leader. "However, you must realize that guts and willpower alone aren't quite enough to win this fight. You also need brains and strategy. Never fight in a way that compromises your chance to win. Fight in a way that leaves damage, even if the outcome is not your side's victory."

"Don't worry about that part." Ambrose accented his words with a quick left-right swung from his blade. "I'm not dying until I've slain my share of Empire lovers."

The docs on the table hadn't been forgotten completely. I pulled together a few sheets on the different varieties of augmentation. "Sounds like another vow. I'll hold you to them all."

The Corporal smiled and performed additional movements with the shield and sword. Ambrose Guellad was ambitious, gutsy, and wise. The young man was a valid credit to our training, a prime example of the Nyufalng's talent for transforming hopeless peasants running from war into skilled fighters battling for the Divine's vitality…and their own future. Corporal Guellad was a man for the job.

_change in s & n_

Joe looked at the city passing outside. "Leonard, how long is the ride to Narshe?"

"It all depends. Roughly an hour during commute times like now."

He shrugged. "No matter. We can talk in the meantime."

Our plan worked out brilliantly. Joe awaited my arrival at the train stop near the farm. Upon completing this day's work of cleaning milk pumps and shoveling cow pens, I saw the jewelry peddler waving at me from the waiting area bench. He finished work about half an hour before me, but since there were points of interest close by, boredom was not a factor.

Our train passed a major construction zone. The street was all blocked off and its pavement was torn apart. This road maintenance hadn't gone unnoticed by the jewel seller. "What's with all the roadwork?" Joe pointed out the window.

"Oh, you've not heard? Strange, since you're both living and working right in Edgar's castle. Edgar is building add-ons to the city plumbing utilities. His castle has its own functional water suppliers, but the rest of the town isn't so lucky. He's got construction workers building newer, larger water lines to each major establishment. My workplace was among the first businesses to get the special treatment. The cows need regular amounts of drinking water."

Joe frowned a little. "Such a massive tune up of public utilities must cost a fortune."

"Yeah, I've heard that much. But since I don't live here in Figaro City, I'm not paying the waterworks construction tax." My eyes snapped to Joe sitting across from me. "You on the other hand, will surely have to pay something, sooner or later."

"King Edgar's never mentioned anything about plumbing tax to me, and I see him almost every day." Joe twiddled his thumbs.

"He's just waiting for you to gain financial security," I theorized. "He'll ask once your bank account is stabilized."

"If that's so, I'd best hustle and find a new place of residence, like Narshe." From the smirk and chuckle, I knew the merchant was only tongue-and-cheek. "Of course, I have no trouble paying King Edgar of Figaro to help make our lives more efficient. I cannot pay him enough tribute. I owe my life to his army. But…back to the present, why is he doing this massive retrofitting of the pipe system?"

"Supposedly, this capital will face a drought if he doesn't. It's a desert town, so water is extremely scarce. I think he's overloading right now while it's still damp and cold. Come spring when it warms up, water usage could multiply twice or even three times its current rate…but that's just me theorizing. Don't take my word as absolute truth."

The gemstone merchant blinked. "So even a technological marvel like this capital is at the mercy of nature?"

I sat back on the cushioned seat of the train car. "I guess, but how could I know for sure? I'm not in charge of this town." I didn't blame Joe for asking these questions. I simply couldn't answer them very well. I had absolutely no idea what sort of data Edgar possessed regarding the city's theoretical dehydration rate.

Joe sat in thought for at least ten minutes after that. Maybe he was doing some theorizing all his own. For a gem seller, that felt a little strange, but only at first. Even for a workaholic, the man could've held interests outside his profession. I certainly did. If I was losing interest in fables about fictional countries, I was gaining interest in the blitz.

The train made all its designated stops in Figaro City, the last one being amid the agriculture farms of the northeastern sector, one less urbanized than the others. "Joe," I called to him. He was oblivious. "Hey Joe," I called a bit louder, snapping my fingers for extra effect. That got his attention, slowly. "The next stop is southwest Narshe."

"Damn. Time really flies when you're lost in conversation." He looked out the window behind him. The town scenery had given way to farming fields, and those would shortly get replaced with mountain forests.

"Or lost in thought," I said. "You've been quiet for most of the ride. What's so special on your mind?"

"I was just surprised about this plumbing project and the looming drought which has prompted it." Joe sat up straight, a contrast to my slouch. "King Edgar will succeed in this piping task. He created that town, and he'll sustain it. He's King, that's reason enough to trust him."

Naturally, I shared Joe's confidence in the nation's Monarch. "You can say that again. I knew all about his start-studded rep even before meeting him in person."

"Which reminds me, how'd you meet the glorious Returners in the first place?" Joe gave me a focused, attentive look. "Last time we met, you explained you were one of their associates like myself, but you never explained how that came to be. Since you know my story, what's yours?"

Again, I had the option of spilling all the grisly beans on the Shedairah massacre, and again I chose to withhold that baffling, bloody tale. I felt obliged to give the man a wonderful first impression. Revealing the monster attack on my old place of occupation would give Joe anything but. He'd probably learn about it at some point in time, so there was no need in rushing the inevitable. Plus, my own involvement was still a closely-hidden secret. That much could stay hidden.

My answer mentioned only the essentials. "One day, I was out in the woods, and something shot me with a spitting needle, which was poisoned. Staggering and sweating with blurred vision and frequent vomiting, I almost gave myself up for dead. But in some unforeseen stroke of good luck, I crossed paths with a green-haired woman who was just out for an evening hike. My body failed me, but not before we made eye contact."

"Wow. In other words, you owe Terra Branford your life, just as I own mine to the King's army."

"That sums it up." I owed Terra something else too, a second date.

Before long, the train pulled into its first stop within Narshe. I stood and made for the sliding doors. "The tour starts here Joe."

Once the train doors opened, the peddler followed me out onto the platform. "What's here that's so important?"

"Amid the hills bordering the southwestern neighborhood are a series of caves, home to wise critters, and a Returner dwells among them. The point of interest is the moogle caves."

Joe's response was beyond perfect. "Kupo."

Leading up to the cave entrance was a network of residential streets. In this neighborhood, most of the houses bore two stories and decorative front lawn gardens. Joe and I walked along a road with fir trees planted along its median. The road ended at a small pond against the rugged hillside. In the hill was a large opening.

"So, who knocks? You or me?" Joe asked.

"They know me," I assured him. "Some years ago, I worked in these mines." That was true. Before getting transferred to Shedairah's caverns, I did mining in this network. "We're friends. I'll explain that you're with me."

The caves were relatively dark, but minors and moogles always kept the natural stone halls illuminated with electric flood lights. Also, because this was a labor area for mining, maps were placed about at several key points to allow for easy navigation. The caves were divided into various zones, each zone getting its name from the tasks performed within. There was also the specified 'moogle zone', an area off limits to any mining activity. Under local city-state law, this zone was reserved for the moogles' habitat. This was a closed-door area. The moogles alone had full authority to admit or deny any who wished to enter.

It was deep in the mine. I'd never been that far. I usually found the white furred creatures out and about in the various other zones, as they helped maintain the industrial equipment and digging tools. It was part of the Mining Guild's labor contract; the mining staff would leave the moogle dens alone, while the moogles would assist with the upkeep of tools, utilities, and mining ops.

Sure enough, one of the furry critters was hard at work doing just that. Two chambers and one hall into the cave, a single moogle was inspecting the vents and light fixtures in a storage room. He or she was on a ladder, checking one of the heating shafts that circulated air and kept the mines warm. As the moogle stepped down from the wooden ladder, I announced our presence by tapping a metal tool rack.

The indigenous cave creature looked up. "Leonard? Ku…po…it is you. Where have you been?"

Only one moogle talked with that much clarity. "Mog. I know, I've been a tad negligent, but with farm work, blitz lessons, and an extra work shift for an absent colleague, I've been booked twice over. But if there's a time to catch up, it's now."

Mog placed his box of inspection tools down near a tool sharpener and strutted over to us. The faster moogles walked, the more they subtly waddled in their movement. Despite the comical waddling, a moogle's short legs granted some impressive speed abilities, even amid rough, uneven terrains.

The talking moogle waddled up, standing at his full height, up to my diaphragm region (and a few more inches if his fluffy antenna was included). "Damn straight it's time to catch up." He noticed Joe standing behind me. "Kupo. Who's this fellow in your company?"

"Mog, this is Returner associate Joe D'Isla. He's a jewelry peddler working in Figaro Castle. He's looking around for a new place, and Narshe is on his list of prospective residencies."

Joe reached for a handshake, reaching more downward than outward given the height difference. Mog returned the greeting with, "Kupo ku…Joe. Kupo, Joe. Welcome to the moogle mines."

Joe stood up to his full height. "A pleasure to be here. I've heard about the natural and technological wonders of Narshe, but you're something else altogether. I never imagined I'd meet human Returners, never mind their moogle membership. The Zozo experience just keeps paying off, in small ways and large."

"Zozo experience?" ask Mog in a slower pace than usual.

"I was kidnapped from Fondanin just days before a military promotion festival commenced," Joe explained. "The gang members held me captive for days while planning their ambush on the opening parade."

"I heard about that!" Mog leaped to an impressive height, considering his short legs. He flapped his wings and hovered for a second or two before descending slowly. "Relm told me all about it, how she and Celes escaped and how Edgar sent troops to aide Fondanin's counterattack on the criminal town."

"Yes, and I escaped the basement of my captivity to come upon that military unit on the streets of Zozo. Thus, I'm here now."

"Kupo? Why here if they captured you from Fondanin?"

"I had just recently moved from Quildern, where I'd been living for some time prior. I didn't have complete ownership of a house in Fondanin, so King Edgar generously offered me a guest room, and a gem trading job in his castle."

"And you're curious about the gem trading business here in Narshe," I added once Joe finished his own story. "Mog, you know of any such livelihood in town?"

"K…kup…" He scratched his head and looked off into the distant room beyond the next hallway. "I've never given it any thought. But this is a mining town. I'm sure a jewel trade exists on some level or another. I'll look into it, if you'd like."

"Yes, most definitely," Joe beamed.

"Have any other questions?" asked Mog.

"I do." There was a burning question that I just couldn't ignore here in the town's mine. "Where's the yeti Umaro?"

Mog's cheerful demeanor instantly faded, as if the moogle exhaled it with his deep, forced breath. "I thought you'd never ask. I hope he's stewing in misery."

"What?" Joe and I almost questioned as one.

"I've heard tales of how you and this yeti creature were close and chummy," explained a bewildered Joe. "Was I misinformed?"

Mog frowned and shook his head. "At one time, you would've heard correctly, but as of recent, a lot has changed. I thought the labor break during the Winter Solstice would serve as a period for him to rest up and get his act together. But he's only become lazier."

If my educated guess was accurate, Umaro's work ethic had gone to shit threefold since the last time I stopped by with Terra. Hadn't she been here once on her own since then? Was anything different that time? "What do you mean?"

The moogle folded his arms tightly. "Ku-POH! I've gone over the cleaning procedures for the mining equipment dozens of times. I've basically held Umaro's hand and done almost half the work for him, and he _still_ cannot work unsupervised. I showed him the procedure of cleaning a sifter machine, for example, and departed his company to work elsewhere. I return some thirty minutes later, and the sifter gears are no less dirty than before, but the bottle of cleaner is empty. Not only has Umaro wasted time, he's wasted our maintenance supplies. We then have to give up our time to compensate for Umaro's sub-half-assed work ethic."

Every word that escaped Mog's lips was razor sharp, each with all the hospitality of a rusted barbed wire fence. If seeing the first altercation between him and the yeti was unsettling, hearing him speak these words with such venom now was almost frightening. Something had culminated and pushed the joyful, relaxed moogle over the edge. I glanced at Joe, if only to catch a small break from Mog's spiteful glare. The merchant's eyes were wide. I doubted he'd ask the question. It was all on me. "So where's Umaro now? What's the 'stewing in misery' part?"

"In detainment," sneered Mog. "He's got no work ethic, let alone the slightest clue about how business works here, so the Guild is letting me issue disciplinary actions. Right now he's caged off in a dark corner in one of our dens, with strict guidelines. No leaving the cage, no outside visitors, no games, and no treats."

I could only verbalize the first impression that came to mind. "Imprisoned." Mog's explanation of Umaro was scary enough, but now the moogle was taking actions that I felt were outright disproportionate, even for a low quality work performance. "That's like you've jailed him. Isn't that going too far? I mean, he's not vandalized anything or stolen property from the Guild. If he's only slacking off, he should be let go from the Guild's workforce, not locked up like some ill-intended criminal."

The irate moogle paced between Joe and I. "Leonard, Umaro's recklessness has reached a new level. One of the catwalks in the processing zone was covered with excess grime and spilled lubricant. I asked Umaro to clean it up…to no avail!" Mog's voice became increasingly sharp and spiteful, like it wasn't his own. "That's more than being lazy, that's presenting a hazard to the mining staff. They could slip and fall on the greasy catwalk floor, and falling from that height would be deadly. I'm not endangering the lives of hard-working miners just to keep Umaro happy. He's got enough brains to know right from wrong, and thus knows safe from dangerous. That kind of irresponsibility is _criminal_ negligence." Mog spun to face me, hands on hips. "As a former employee of this mine, you should agree with my outlook, two-hundred percent."

Silence lingered for several moments between the three of us. Joe had been at loss for any words for minutes now, and I myself couldn't think of a response. I'd never seen Mog act this rigid and imposing before. These weren't characteristics I expected from moogles, especially one with high intelligence like Mog.

But…

Though he was extremely out of his character, acting like someone else completely, I really didn't have anything to challenge his argument. Safety violations were criminal negligence after all. Mog still worked here. I hadn't for at least two years. He presented his argument with little charisma, but after all was said and done, he did have a valid point which common sense could only endorse, not criticize.

Mog sighed. "Leonard, Joe. I apologize if I'm venting my frustrations on either of you. That's not my intention."

This was more with Mog's character. I could ease up, to a small degree. "I understand that. I won't intervene with your doing what you must. It's your call."

"Kupo-upo. I wish I could talk more and catch up, but work is an obligation for the mine to function." Mog picked up his toolbox and ladder. "The Guild hasn't been letting us outside much lately. We go outside in shifts, and my shift to get some daylight already came around this morning, so I must be off. But I'll check into the jewel trade here in town Joe. You've kinda perked my curiosity. Hopefully, I won't have to clean up after that hairy fat-ass moron Umaro." Mog walked past us, sans the waddling.

"I thought you and that yeti were friends." Joe finally got back his voice, verbalizing my own train of thought.

"So did I," Mog said over his shoulder, before disappearing around a curved hallway.

There was nothing else to see or hear in this mine, so Joe and I went back out to the residential neighborhood. The sky wasn't dark yet, but the sun had gone down past the hills, masking this hillside district in shadow. As we traced our footsteps back to the train station, Joe burst out laughing once again.

"Joe? What the hell's funny this time?"

"Uhh…nothing really funny Leonard. I just didn't expect that moogle to be so…Damn. I can't describe his attitude in words." Talking quelled some of the nervous giggles.

"I can. Disturbing, condescending, disgusted, spiteful…but sadly, realistic. His behavior aside, I can empathize with his argument. It's not the first time Umaro has been irresponsible. Last time I came by the cave, Mog was lecturing the yeti, out of eyeshot, but not earshot. I overheard the moogle's criticisms."

"So this isn't the first time?" The surprise was long gone from Joe's voice.

"Nope." The topic of Umaro was exhausted, and it wasn't a very inspiring subject to begin with. A change was necessary for both of us. Joe and I had come to Narshe for a reason, and it wasn't to learn about Umaro's incompetence. "So, what you think of this district? Would you relocate here?"

"It's too early to judge", he answered, looking at some houses with their own stained glass windows. "All things considered, it a lovely neighborhood that pleases the eye, but I don't know anything else beyond its looks, and I've not seen the other Narshean districts yet."

"Well, it's getting dark, so another district will have to wait for next time. But this one still has a few specials, mostly small businesses. There's no need to explore the whole city in one day." I showed the merchant around some business plazas in the neighborhood. Neither of us said anything more about Mog and Umaro. Hopefully, Joe had cleared his mind of the topic. I couldn't, not entirely.

But every time I questioned it, I arrived back where I'd started; Mog had every reason to cage Umaro. I couldn't disagree on any rational, logical grounds. Bad attitude or not, Mog was right. His nasty, militant vibe was disturbing, but not his choice of action. Any foreman would remove a negligent worker from the trade guild, and since Umaro was all muscle with hardly any brains, caging him was the only practical option.

That was all. I had no reason to question the circumstance anymore.

_change in s & n_

"Feel the energy flow through you Terra. You concentration not only lets it flow, but gives you the sharpened senses to feel your inner stream."

Meditation; the most frequent drill that Sabin referenced, sitting crossed legged on a soft surface, taking deep breaths, and focusing neither on past nor future, only the present.

The energy was coursing through me. The old mind-over-body saying proved more than accurate for enhancing my agility. High jumps, cartwheels, wall flips, and the like were accomplished by calling upon my inner essence and transmitting the energy into my physical motions. For a moment, I could forget my half-esper lineage completely.

But only for a moment. "It's time." Sabin nudged my shoulder and pointed at the clock. The day's lesson was finished. Sabin had elsewhere to be. Progress on building the additional plumbing lines was slow along the major streets, and Sabin was volunteering to help when he could.

I grabbed my purple sweater and slipped it on. "I won't keep you. The more people work on this construction project, the quicker it'll be finished."

"Right. Maybe you'll give me a hand sometime. The more, the merrier, so they say." Taking hint, I clapped my hands. Sabin was humored, though not exactly impressed. "Cute Terra. I meant helping hand, not applause."

"I'm not the person whose brother constructed the castle's first plumbing network. I don't know anything about waterworks. Beyond unclogging a toilet with a plunger, my knowledge of pipe utilities is nonexistent." I admitted my shortcoming.

Sabin organized the tables and chairs, as he often did before locking up the training room. "Well, if you've got a backed-up line that won't clear from using a plunger, maybe Leonard could do the job. He cleans the pipes of milk machines at the farm. He knows how it's done."

"Yeah, but the farm pays me for it."

A self-fulfilling prophesy? When speaking of someone, do they always mystically appear?

"I'll be damned, Leonard." Sabin greeted the Narshean, who stood in the doorway, as if he'd appeared on some scripted cue. "What brings you here, cleaning the farm equipment?"

Leonard stepped inside a few paces. "Not quite yet. This was originally a day off, but I'm filling in for a colleague who came down with the flu. It's this evening, but I wanted to get here before the commute rush. And since I'm in the area, I figured why not stop by. The fill-in shift won't start for a couple hours."

Sabin traded glances with each of us, alternating between me and Leonard, as if sending unspoken prompts to both of us. During recent sessions, I'd discussed meeting with Leonard again, and surely Sabin had passed on this information. There were few places we could actually get face-to-face though. I had no idea where Leonard's house was in the industrial metropolis of Narshe, and while he knew I lived in the Haggleston District, I'd never specified my place's exact location. Aside from the castle, the dairy farm, the poultry restaurant Ghearn's Coop, and this dojo, there were few locations familiar to us both. We'd have to change that.

"I'm glad you're together again, but if you've got another date in mind, you'll have to take it outside. I'm leaving and wish to lock up." Sabin pointed outside through the open door. Neither of us objected.

Outside, Sabin went straight for the train platform, en route the latest plumbing construction zone. "Is this another date?" I asked with a subtle hint of eagerness, hoping Leonard would catch it.

"Why the hell not? I've got nothing better to do until the work shift starts. We don't see each other too often, so we should make an effort to increase such meetings."

"Yes, and they should also count, if they're so infrequent. What's the plan for this one? I've already had lunch, so a meal date can't be the focus of this get-together."

Did Leonard have any solid plans, or he more focused on the journey and completely ignoring the destination? Fortunately, he was thinking. "Then a simple walk around the district will suffice." It was a simple plan, but it counted as something. I took him up on the offer.

This northern part of Figaro City was residential. Homes in this area were constructed with the half-timbered decorative motif; mortar walls with hardwood beams aligned in a grid arrangement upon the exterior. Some of the houses were situated on the base of the mountains, with backyards that sloped upwards, reaching past the roofs. The elevated backyards weren't surrounded by wooden fences, but with concrete walls. This was a safety measure against wild animals that might roam close to the outskirts of town.

We kept our hands to ourselves. Leonard made no attempts to reach out for me, so I wasn't keen on reaching for him. I'd never walked hand-in-hand with anyone before, and my intuition said that Leonard was no different. That should've been a plus, a basis to relate and open up. But for some reason, it swayed heavily to the minus side. I'd never taken such initiative before. And I was doubtful that Leonard to step up where I was chickening out. He was in the same boat, though for much different reasons. I had no memories of my past. His past was something he probably wanted to forget.

Damn that fucking slave crown. The more I thought about it, the more I felt cheated and ripped off about those eighteen years, especially now, when the Empire was nothing but archives in the pages of history. True, I couldn't stay resentful forever since the past would remain the past, but I had an awfully long trail of catching up to walk, and I was moving at a slug's pace.

Or was I? I'd gotten so used to sulking and feeling ignorant that maybe I wasn't seeing the benefits in the present. I'd gotten together with Leonard once already, and I was keeping pace with him right now. The glass wasn't completely empty, not any more.

The residential street soon led to an open park. Weather-permitting, this widespread field of grass was a local hotspot for many residents of many interests. Today was no different. A group of old men was gathered at a picnic table for a chess match, a younger man and his daughter were flying a kite in the modest breeze, a woman strode past us walking a shaggy dog, and some teens were huddled in a circle playing foot-bag.

The lush green grass was meticulously cared for. There were several flat, black discs scattered about the gigantic lawn, some right alongside the gravel path where Leonard and I strode. These were sprinklers, their heads withdrawn into the ground, unnecessary during this cold weather. But that would change in two or three months. When the heat set in and warmed up the town, the sprinklers would rise up and unleash fountains of cold, watery spray over the massive field. I'd seen it every year during the dry season, and hoped to see it again this year.

This park was loved by all locals, regardless of age or interest. It would be a shame if the grassy field were to wither and dry up come the warm season. Edgar would have the new plumbing extensions complete by then. That's why he was putting such strenuous effort into it right now.

A stroll in the park was welcome, but I didn't enjoy the quietude between me and Leonard. The silence was definitely not golden. It was time to begin the inevitable reveal. We came to a bench along the gravel path. I set the example and took a seat. He did the same. Another positive sign; despite not holding hands, he wasn't so shy about getting close. Maybe getting 'hands-on' wasn't far away.

Was I to bluntly come out of the blue and say, 'Leonard, my father was an esper from another world?' No. The direct approach wasn't the best in this case. Last time we met at Ghearn's Coop, I told him the story of how espers weren't as sadistic and violent as the popular (and yes, arguable) opinion would claim. He'd taken away a fresh new outlook from that meeting, and now I could expand on it. I'd been thinking of this follow-up for some time, and if you welcome thoughts, they come.

I hadn't been the only half-human, half-esper being of this world. There was a castle in the caves beneath the western arm of the Hyaxulan Mountains. It was a fortress during the ancient War of the Magi. Warfare had ravaged the citadel, and the passing of a whole millennium buried the ruins amid scores of myths and almost three miles of mountainous rock. Yet the historical site remained, forgotten by those who'd experienced its tale and unknown to the generations that followed. Only by pure happenstance did we learn of it. Rumors of its existence spread through word of mouth; that a forgotten landmark rested far below the Figaroan desert. After hearing the tale so many times, Edgar took it upon himself to move his own castle underground and see if the fables held any merit. Sure enough, they proved truthful.

Among various artifacts in the ruined palace, we found a gem-covered diary, shrouded in dust and worn from neglect. But its pages were clear enough to discern. Its content would be my starting point. I could observe Leonard's reactions without directly referring to myself.

"I've been meaning to talk with you Leonard, to build upon the last date's discussion." I finally broke the silence.

"I'm listening." He was up for it. I needn't hold back now.

"Humans craved the espers' natural abilities. But there were tales of exceptions. Some humans didn't covet esper magic, and were more interested in the other side of espers."

"What side?" he asked. "A very human side?"

Perfect. He already had some idea where I was going. I could take him there even faster now. "You guessed it. Espers were capable of feeling human emotions, including love. They weren't all about hate, vengeance, and mistrust. In one instance, a queen developed a very close intimacy to one of her knights during the War of the Magi. She didn't care that he was an esper knight, she only cared that he was a hearty, honest man who fulfilled her every desire. They fell in love. But it was a major transgression, on both grounds. Neither society wanted any of its members romantically involved with the other. Those who carried the best of both worlds weren't accepted by either. But in the flames of global warfare, cultural intolerance was an afterthought. In their limited time, they wed secretly." Now came the final moment of truth, the real test that mattered. The whole story I'd just told was boiling down to this one finale. "Legend has it that shortly after their union, the couple had a child, an offspring who bridged the void between humans and espers."

That was it. I had just dropped the clue I'd been withholding for months now. I did my part. The next step was on Leonard. I waited for his response. My heart throbbed fast and hard, but I sat focused and attentive.

He clicked his tongue against his teeth and regarded me with his faded blue eyes. "You're telling me that a child possessing magic powers beyond most human comprehension was gestating in the womb a human female? How is that possible? The female could not withhold such immense energy. She'd literally burst to pieces. I think you should check the authenticity of your source. Legends can get warped as decades and even centuries pass by. Judging how many accurate historical records from 1'000 years ago were lost, the root source of that information is suspect, at best. I've got imagination, but I can't just believe _everything_."

The suspense faded away. He didn't believe me. Somehow, I couldn't blame him, but I still hoped he'd be less quick to write off the human-esper bond as fictitious. I did my part and gained nothing from it. I could try coaxing Leonard into telling more of his past. But I'd be walking on real sensitive ground, asking that Leonard bring to light memories and experiences he wanted kept buried. My willingness to reveal my own gloomy past was definitely not a shared trait among us.

The Narshean kept fidgeting, and even stifled a couple of laughs. It was sarcastic laughter, or else it wouldn't be so muted. I wondered if revealing the tale of human-esper love was a mistake, one that left him nervous and confused. "Leonard? What's wrong? You seem…distracted."

A few deep breaths got the fake laughs under control. "I met up with Joe while strolling in the forest. He was looking to explore Narshe, and I offered to show him around. A couple days back, I took him on the first phase of a…'guided tour'. The first place of interest was the Verdsanath District in the southwest corner. The neighborhood with the moogle caves."

Somehow, the change of subject was welcome. "Really?" I asked with interest. "How did he like it?"

"He said it's a decent neighborhood, but he wants to see the rest of the town. As far as seeing the moogle mines, he enjoyed the experience of talking with Mog, but…" Leonard didn't finish. Instead, his forced laugh started up again.

"But what? Did something awful happen during the visit?"

"Mog has caged Umaro for on-the-job negligence."

So nothing had changed since my last visit. Umaro had only gotten more reckless, and that got Mog even more pissed off. "What kind of negligence?"

"Mog claims that Umaro cannot work unsupervised, and that Sasquatch also left spills behind on catwalks, spills which pose dangers to safety. As an ex-mine worker myself, I can't say his argument is wrong. But…the way Mog spoke of caging the yeti, he sounded proud of himself, like he got kicks from administering corporal punishment. Moogles don't go on power trips, at least, they're not _supposed to_."

Vivid memories of my last trek to the caves filled my head. Mog acted harsher than an irate military drill sergeant, Umaro sounded hurt in response, and I was quite shaken just from overhearing them. I'd almost forgotten their quarrel, but now that Leonard spoke of Umaro being caged up, I remembered Mog's temper. And something else came to mind. "What's going on? We both only have Mog's side of the story. What does Umaro have to say?"

Leonard shrugged. "One of the caging conditions is no outsiders visiting. He's detained in a cave zone that's beyond the Mining Guild's authority. I don't know his end of the equation, assuming there is one. I doubt he's got the best memory or speech in the cave, so he's likely to forget some things, and poorly explain others. What Mog did was necessary. All I find upsetting was his abrasive, nasty attitude. How he administered the solution may be questionable, but the solution itself is just a standard practice."

Leonard folded his hands and stared southward. Here, the perfect discussion subject—one neutral to both our pasts—had come up. It was a chance to get a little closer. But I did nothing. There were only a few inches between us on the park bench, but it could've been a continent's worth of distance. We sat, hands off each other, me taking no initiative, and Leonard oblivious to the need of taking one. I could reach out and touch him, but was too cowardly to risk a negative reaction. Maybe there would be another chance, but then what? I could just as easily wimp out again when that chance came. I knew Leonard's past was troubled and laden with misfortune, but he was still a being of this world, in ways that I wasn't. Any surprises he presented on his end would be marginal compared to what I presented from mine.

I gazed at him, and he kept gazing southwards, blissfully ignorant of my inner struggle. My glass wasn't completely empty, but it was less than one-tenth full.


	20. The Approaching Tempest

**Chapter 20: The Approaching Tempest**

"This sucks," Locke repeated once again. "These detours are anything but convenient. We're going out of our way to reach our destination. And don't say I'm the only one who objects."

"They are detours, not shortcuts," I pointed out. "And even if the townspeople object, they're biting the bullet. If commoners of Figaro City can hold off on bitching, so can a world-class, treasure hunting Returner like yourself." I placed a hand on his back. "Besides, these detours won't last forever."

"Well, they are short-term. But it's still annoying, while it lasts."

Though I was less outspoken, I could share some of Locke's annoyance. Closing major streets within Figaro's capital didn't bring smiles for commuters who walked around this district. Whole boulevards were sealed off by cyclone fences. Only at certain key areas could pedestrians cross a street. These crosswalk points also changed each day as the digging moved along the road. One day a crosswalk might be just outside the door, the next it'd be a quarter mile down the street.

But the Reservoir Guild had no alternative. To add larger pipelines to the smaller existing ones, digging the surface of the town's many streets was the only option. This construction zone in particular was inside a commercial district with businesses a plenty, each establishment requiring its own updated plumbing line. With much tenacity and perspiration, the Guild was tearing up the paved roads and laying the new pipes for each business, no compromises and no cutting corners.

All bad things come to an end. Our grossly-extended walk through town was nearly done. We finally came to a crosswalk point. This area was full of hard-working plumbers and builders, using the perfect tools for the trade.

Another sign of the Empire's defeat; the heavy equipment used in digging up the streets. While standard cranes were moving and laying the massive pipes, old units of magitek armor were clearing the space. The units here were modifications of the clawed models. The robotic arms ended in metallic scoops with sharp, jagged teeth along the rims, breaking apart surface dirt and scooping it up. A huge dirt pile lay behind the closest unit, almost a tall as the bi-pedal machine itself.

A construction worker, not an Imperial soldier, sat in the chair at the control bank, lowering the shovel claws into the ditch for two more scoopfuls. Seeing the machine's new operator, I immediately remembered that such units were no longer called magitek armors. Edgar had aptly named these machines 'walkers', construction walkers in this case.

Locke and I crossed the designated zone as the construction walker dumped the two latest scoops onto the growing dirt pile. As the operator lowered the scoop claws for more digs, I noticed a man in beige pants and a black jacket standing by the fence. He observed the construction with much interest, seemingly oblivious to our presence.

His unkempt dark hair and wide shoulders looked familiar. These features weren't lost on me, or Locke. "Hey Celes, look who's here. How long has he been waiting for us?"

I just laughed. "Did he even know we'd be coming this way? Let's find out. Hey Joe!"

The merchant's eyes drifted from the digging and settled on us. "Locke, Celes. Come to watch?" He approached us in his usual reverence. Though I'd come to predict such hero worship, it was still appreciated.

"Not quite." Locke offered his right hand to the peddler, who returned the greeting. "We're on our way to see our friend with a proposal. I'm sure you know of our gambling friend Setzer Gabbiani."

"Of course," Joe stated, as if it was obvious already. "Owner of the famous air-travelling casino. I've never ridden inside."

I gently patted the man's shoulder. "You and how many others? Anyways, a few months back, the airship Falcon landed in the ocean to avoid a crash into this town." I didn't elaborate on the cause of that crash, and doubted Joe was curious to hear the details. "It's still in one piece, in the repair depot at the southern docks, but as a private utility, munitions workers are in no rush to fix the damaged engines. Since he's been inert for a while, we thought about treating him to a day at the chocobo races held on the outskirts of Kohlingen. His thirty-first birthday was last week."

"Though I'm not big on races or gambling, I hope he takes your idea to heart," Joe offered.

"He will. I'm sure of it," Locke declared with unwavering certainty. "By the way, I apologize for prying into the details of your friend's illness. I only meant well."

"Yes, I thought about that prospect after lunch that day. It's the thought that counts, so I cannot hold it against you."

"If you don't mind my asking, what's his name? It's possible he knows us. You see, the two of us make a living by cleaning up and selling old treasures we found along our many quests." Locke circled an arm around my waist. "Old bits of discontinued handicraft, relics that no longer bear magic properties, things that fetch a high price. It's possible your friend purchased from us."

Joe stuck his hands into his coat pockets and stared back at the construction. "His name is Bren Randluns, and he's never discussed meeting either of you in person. He would've bragged if that were so."

"There's always tomorrow," Locke stated optimistically "or whenever he recovers. Next time you visit him, mention us. We do our vending in the Dennalty Plaza. It's in the eastern sector of Quildern's Thrawning District. I'm sure you know the vibrant business activity which goes on there, being a merchant as you are."

Joe shook his head. "Actually, I don't. I never did any business in Quildern. I just lived there. It was more…scenic, being located on a hillside, but as Kohlingen was larger in both land mass and population, I did business there, before I packed up for Fondanin…and wound up here."

"Well, you've got an ample market here in Figaro," I said.

"And that's before I take Narshe into account. I explored the neighborhood in its southwest region with Leonard. It's a good first impression. He'll take me further in next time we're both available."

"Southwest Narshe?" Locke asked. "That leads to the moogle mines. Did Leonard introduce our friends Mog and Umaro?"

Joe looked down. "I met Mog, but Umaro was caged for some kind of negligence that violates mine safety guidelines. Neither Leonard nor I probed into the story, but Mog sounded _proud_ of himself for punishing the yeti as such. He was so demeaning and degrading, I wondered if their friendship was in jeopardy."

Locke and I faced each other. We both knew how low Umaro's thought capacity was, and how Mog often bent over backwards to teach Umaro even the most basic lessons in work and relations. That Mog had even granted Umaro a job in the mines was generous by itself. The smart, resourceful moogle had put Sasquatch's gratuitous muscles to practical use. If Umaro had been negligent as Joe said, that mining job was on the edge of termination.

The yeti's low quality performance was less than surprising. But Mog's attitude in dealing with the problem was something else. He was definitely not the type to obsess on matters that put him in a foul mood. Umaro must've really screwed up tenfold. Safety violations would qualify as such.

But it was unsettling, no matter how I looked at Mog's demeanor. Locke viewed it in similar terms, as he asked, "Should we tell Edgar? This sounds like Mog's going a little too far with disciplinary measures, even for Umaro."

"Are you shitting me? King Edgar has more pressing matters to contend with." Joe pointed at the construction activity with his thumb. A crane was lowering a thick, cylindrical pipe segment into the ditch. "He's got a whole capital to re-plumb, and as a resident, I could be taxed real soon."

One didn't need a prestigious Returner background to know that. Edgar was a King, but not some omnipotent god-like being who could view the entire world at once. Even as ruler of Sayitheren's most advanced nation, the man had his limits. There was no point in testing them without valid reason. "Yes, this plumbing must be a strain on him right now. He doesn't need petty matters like Umaro's incompetence cluttering his plate."

Locke saw it my way. "Yeah, I cannot argue against that, but I can still disagree with Mog's outlook."

"Then take it up with him," I recommended. "But another time. Let's get to the harbor and check on Setzer."

"Right," agreed Locke. "We'd best be off. Joe, pleasure seeing you, planned or otherwise. Next time you visit Bren, give him our regards. It's the least we can do."

Joe folded his hands behind his neck. "Sure. I'll keep you in mind next time I'm there."

"Have a good one." I waved to Joe, and he returned my gesture before turning back to the pipe construction. Guild workers climbed into the ditch. Sparks, white flashes, and mechanical humming suggested welding tools in use to connect the pipe sections.

Now that we'd passed the construction zone, we no longer faced out-of-the-way detours through the city streets. This area had already been re-plumbed. Though it was smaller and less packed than the current construction area, I still found encouragement in seeing a completed region. The Guild would only find more, as they were involved. Slowly but steadily, this grueling task would be completed.

_change in s & n_

Though he'd established a highly prolific rep as the undefeated gladiator of Dragon's Neck Coliseum, Ziegfried Morersch was still a person of mystery. I had many questions for the man, but seldom did we both have simultaneous availability. If the champion wasn't training with Cyan and the rest of my armies, my own hands were tied with taxation meetings and overseeing the construction process.

But now, I had a chance of sorts. I'd make the best of it.

Charise was meeting with Antonio Larsone about the latest tax collection. She had relatives who ran large businesses in Vardigga, and grew up with extensive accounting and finance knowledge as a result. She could deal with distributing the monetary intake while I entertained a personal curiosity.

I'd asked around the military command center about Ziegfried, but he'd not stopped by or checked in with anyone.

Hopeful, I knocked on the guestroom door three times. After a moment, I heard footsteps beyond, followed by the clicking of door locks. The door opened. "Ah, Edgar. Come inside." Ziegfried stepped back and I entered the guestroom. This was my chance.

The brawler's armor and weaponry were piled in a heap next to the guest suite's chest of drawers. As he sat on the bed, I pulled a chair from the table along the wall. The champion reached for the bedside light and switched it higher. "Don't mind the setting. I was simply taking a nap."

"Not at all. I'm sure training and practice take their toll sooner or later, especially the rigorous kind you do, and how often you do it."

"Oh I'm used to long hours of training ritual." He brushed a few stands of shaggy hair out of his eyes. "The extra rest is needed because of something I'm not used to; teaching others. I've never taught before, so I'm largely relying on General Garamonde to aide me in these drills. He's got the instructor experience that I lack entirely."

"How's the training process going so far?" I asked. With my various other duties, I couldn't watch the weaponry demos very much.

"I'm still observing the martial skills of your army, assessing where they stand in comparison with me." Ziegfried ran a finger down his scarred, asymmetrical jaw line. "Once I know that, I'll have a reference point on where to start. For now, I can say the army is formidable in its own right, even without the use of technology-based arsenals. But I'm surprised about General Garamonde. He's not quite what I expected."

"Surprised? How so?" I was stunned to hear this, but I kept my tone controlled. "He's the most battled-hardened of our group."

"Well, for a man of his stature, I thought his style of swordplay would be more…well-rounded," Ziegfried admitted. "Yes, he does have some unique tricks up his sleeve, like the Stunner Thrust and the Empowerer Wave, but aside from those, his skills with the blade are quite linear with minimal variety. This confirms what I've always suspected about the Doman fighting style, ever since I first witnessed it in action."

"You have? When?" I was more surprised at this newest revelation.

Ziegfried shifted his position on the bed. "Back in my time as mercenary, I helped the Doman resistance when the Imperials waged a full-scale invasion."

"A mercenary?" I asked in a voice lacking objectivity. "I heard the King of Doma was slowly moving away from strict traditionalism, but I never thought he'd be so liberal as to employ a mercenary, one whose loyalty is to the price, not the bidder."

"That's correct," the gladiator acknowledged. "Many high-ranking Doman generals shared that mentality, but their subordinates weren't so compliant. Against superior numbers and fire-power, some bent their own rules. Lower-ranking Doman troops more than welcomed my assistance, agreeing to my terms; free food and shelter, medical care when required, and a price of 50,000 Doman Gold Pence. For three months I fought with Doma's army and witnessed Cyan Garamonde in action, but unbeknownst to him. If my presence became known to the Doman elite, the wrath would come down hard on my employers, and my pay would cease. Needless to say, I worked in secret."

"Until you attained your desired pay of 50,000?" I verbally theorized.

"Upon receiving that sum, I left Doma. They almost begged me to stay longer, promising to double my pay. But I'd made a promise to an old partner, a man who smuggled counterfeit goods into Nikeah to support his estranged girlfriend and illegitimate child."

"I see." My voice regained its objective countenance. Ziegfried hadn't been a _total_ mercenary, as I originally thought. "What happened after that?"

"I arrived in Nikeah, only to learn that my old partner died in a conflict with rival smugglers." He reached for a glass of water on the nightstand. "After that, I headed south, seeking some formidable non-human challenges on the Veldt. I stayed there until the great collapse, after which I moved west again, soon hearing of this fight arena to the north of Kohlingen. I'm sure you know what I did next."

"Earned the title of champion," I concluded. "But I'm more impressed with your pre-coliseum track record. You've had immense experience against intelligent foes in overwhelming numbers." That answered one of my prime questions, the extent of Ziegfried's combat experience. I asked my next relevant question. "Have you any formal combat training?"

Ziegfried crossed his ankle over his knee and brushed some stray lint off his sock. "I did train with Nikeah's navy for a couple of years. They boasted one of the best fleets I'd ever seen, and it was always ready to halt intrusions. The Empire never held interest in a small, independent city-state like Nikeah, but pirate gangs were major trouble along the coast. Occasionally, Doman messengers asked for Nikeah's help in fighting the Imperials, but the local government turned them down to keep neutrality. Around that time, I left the navy and took up the merc-for-hire status, hoping to add more variety to my combat experience."

So the man had some professional experience as well. Content, I asked my next key question. "You obviously know of my brother's accomplishments. What do you know of the blitz? I'm very curious if the Hyper-drive and other techniques you've got have some connection to my brother's signature art."

"Well, that a tough one." Ziegfried gazed at the ceiling for a moment. "I've seen Sabin in action a couple of times, so I'm familiar with a few of his trademark skills, from the observing end. However, because I don't actually practice the blitz, I cannot offer you a thorough comparison."

"I see." I drummed my fingers over my kneecap, considering my response. I still had some questions, and I wanted to ask them while both of us were unoccupied. "My own knowledge of the blitz is quite modest as well, and he's my own brother. Still, I know the blitz in not derived from a magical source. On that note, what powers these weapon moves, if not magic?"

"Now that I can answer," Ziegfried's announced with an assured voice. "My specialties are fuelled from an internal source, unlike an external one such as your magicite stones. I use a mental concentration technique, where I feed my inner essence into my weapon, which becomes an extension of me and my will at that point."

"I sort of understand…sort of." It was a reference point, if nothing else.

"If you're that curious, you should talk with him. Remember, I'm not a trainer like your brother or General Garamonde." The gladiator admitted his weak point, but his voice carried no shame.

"I'll be sure to. And I'll make sure to check in with Cyan. That my greatest warrior isn't as great as I first thought is a little troubling."

Ziegfried laughed. "Edgar, the lack of variety in Cyan's weapon style would only stand out to an expert like me. I assure you, his flaws will go unnoticed by the average commoner, if that's your concern."

I relaxed. It made sense that a mercenary-turned-gladiator would pick up on such details, especially with prior knowledge of the Doman sword style. I wondered if the champion of Olistes could actually best the last Knight of Doma. Cyan had twenty plus years of weaponry experience, but if Ziegfried's implications were true, that experience was not in Sayitheren's most well-rounded combat style. I was definitely considering the quality-over-quantity argument.

"It's no longer a concern, now that you've put it to rest. It takes a pro to find another pro's flaws," I commended, much to the brawler's amusement. He smiled, revealing his teeth, some of which were capped and filled with gold. "Anyways, thanks a bunch. I must be off."

"Anytime." Ziegfried reclined on the bed. I was even more grateful he was aiding us, having just received a lowdown of his colorful track record. The super monsters that butchered Shedairah would have a new challenger…once they reappeared. If I combined Figaro's trademark weapon technology with Ziegfried's specialized use of handheld weapons, we'd give this super strain of wildlife a run for its money. They were smarter than average, but not invincible.

I pushed the chair back under the table and almost left the champion's company, but I noticed something I'd previously overlooked. On the table was a copy of Figaro City's newspaper, its pages flipped so that one particular story met my eyes. It wasn't a front page story, just a midsection article. But its title was enough to perk my curiosity.

The article's authenticity was suspect in itself. There were no pictures or even quotes to back up the title's claim, and when information travels through the grapevine over a lengthy distance, it can become heavily distorted in the process, enough so the resulting tale bares little if any resemblance to the original. This news travelled from afar, so the newspaper's version was hardly a genuine account. That said, this article was simple and to the point, enough so that I couldn't dismiss its content in full, no matter how much of it was been blown out of context. I read the title yet again.

House Virnone Escalates Military Campaign.

The article's accuracy was questionable, but its topic was hardly unfamiliar to me. Kissing the Emperor's feet for ten years didn't come without my learning a few Imperial secrets. House Virnone was an aristocratic Tzenish House that favored Gestahl's reign. Before the Empire took over the southern continent, there was much talk of establishing a unity against the budding dictatorship. Tzen's leading royal family at the time was very outspoken against the growing Imperial shadow. Their anti-Gestahl mentality was favored by most of Tzen, save for one of the royal family's subordinates, the greedy House Virnone.

Embracing many Imperial values and eager to take local control of Tzen, House Virnone eventually sold out their kingdom to the Empire. Their betrayal was rewarded greatly. Once the Empire slaughtered the Tzenish royal family, they set up House Virnone as its local representative. The newly promoted House became an extension of Gestahl's authoritarianism in every way possible.

While the Empire itself was destroyed in the great collapse, the loyalist House Virnone hadn't been so unfortunate. They still had plenty of technology, staff, and motivation to exploit the neediness of Tzen's people in the disaster's aftermath. The pretext was 'to keep the city-state orderly and alive'. To that degree, they succeed.

With Kefka's death and the eradication of magic, the treacherous House Virnone found a decisive opportunity to replace the Empire, an outcome that hadn't slipped my mind amid thoughts of revitalizing my own kingdom. House Virnone was no doubt Imperial in alignment, but with no magic and fewer numbers to work with, its ability to expand overseas was nothing beyond a dream. I knew that much, and left the subject on that note.

Still, the House was formidable locally, and that was provable with something more credible than a suspect newspaper article.

I'd not given the former Imperial domain any thought for months, not since an emissary from Sireck's and Edrina's House of Albrook personally arrived on my doorstep, requesting assistance in dealing with unrest inside their borders. The offenders were exploiting the Albrooker military's efforts abroad, using a lack of strong local military presence to raise hell.

My first reaction was to refuse their plea. What happened overseas was not my concern in this time of revitalizing my own kingdom, and all Returner contacts from down south had perished in the great collapse. If the Tzenish House Virnone couldn't expand like its Gestahlian predecessors, surely a bunch of disorganized rioter could be ignored from up here in Figaro.

But the emissary was slick with his words. "Prove to us, King Edgar of Figaro, that your allegiance to the Gestahlian powers remains broken in this post-Palazzo world."

The House of Albrook believed that Figaro could still be an offshoot of the late Gestahl's dominion. Since I'd publically been just that for a whole decade, this belief was justified. However, I wasn't comfortable with involving myself in a small domestic dispute overseas. Once again, I needed to walk that vital middle ground.

After some deliberation, I found it. I would not send any military staff to Albrook, but would instead provide them with a shipment of weapons and combat tools for the emissary to bring back on his ship (conveniently docked in one of my ports). I knew the ruling House of Albrook opposed Gestahl's loyalists and Kefka's worshippers. Helping an enemy of both groups would surely prove my partnership with anything Gestahlian was long severed. Still, I spelled out my terms in lush detail tenfold; I wasn't siding with Albrook in their political struggle, but was simply aiding them with the civil unrest in their own borders.

For a while after that, I heard nothing from Albrook. Order had seemingly been restored. But just over a month later, I received an update that I didn't expect, never mind enjoy. The riots had resumed with even greater violence, so much that Albrook had called its entire military staff back home to contend with the matter. Another shipment of tools and supplies had been requested, and though I had no desire to become Sireck and Edrina's private arms dealer, I had a charitable, anti-Gestahl reputation to keep.

But this request could not be fulfilled. At this time, a new wave of intelligent, highly-evolved super monsters never recorded in biology overwhelmed one of my kingdoms best assets, slaughtering most of its on-site personnel. Only one person survived, and that was partly thanks to luck. I was en route to the base in question when a half-awake Leonard Gurosawn, who'd just awaken from his week-long coma that morning, chased down my travel party and revealed the Shedairah massacre.

Political strife and rioting underclass on a distant continent were irrelevant to me now. Monsters were evolving and had raised bloody hell up here in my own back yard. I doubted this monster menace would go as suddenly as it came. Ultros and Chupon were still out there.

"Is everything alright? You seem…lost."

I had been lost in the newspaper story, so lost that I'd totally forgotten about Ziegfried. "I'm good. I was just thinking about the monsters. I'm eager to give them a piece of my mind, and a sample of your weapon skills. Take care. I'll see you around." I left the gladiator to himself and closed the suite door. New weapon technology would be unveiled soon, specifically the upgraded models of the lightning cannon.

While it didn't concern me at all, I let myself ponder one last detail about House Virnone. If they were upping their military efforts, they'd be even more formidable to their opponents. Though not for my sake, I hoped the targets of House Virnone's aggression were more than prepared for an army that embraced Imperial values and revivalism thereof.

_change in s & n_

The Tzenish brigade was stalled, but only for a couple days. A small snowstorm had brewed over the remains of the Logrius Mountains. This forced the Tzenish army to delay that stretch of their march, and we used those couple days for some extra preparatory measures, anticipating their entry into the Kavaryts Lowlands of Albrooker soil.

Ruqojjen and I went about the armory, detailing stock of weapons. The arsenal was a hodgepodge collection of local Albrooker pieces and gear we'd smuggled out of Jrysthovuh. I was finishing up the last isle of racks and shelves when footsteps approached. Completing the list on my notepad, I looked up, expecting to see Ruqojjen, but meeting the gaze of someone else. "Oh, hi Corporal."

Ambrose Guellad smiled. The young Corporal still carried his favorite 'wagon wheel' buckler in his left hand. His right hand carried something far more exotic, something that was here in Albrook thanks to us Nyufalng.

The rangamju was another specialty weapon from Jrysthovuh. It was light enough to use with one hand, yet long and sturdy enough to be used with both. Like the vuork-hiylsh, the rangamju was a multi-purpose weapon; short spear, sledge hammer, and scythe blade all in one. A user could deliver fast, precise thrusting attacks with the needle tip, swing the weapon for bludgeoning damage with the hammer face, or use the claw-like sickle jutting out from the shaft at a ninety-degree angle. This part could reach around shields.

"Come to show off your rangamju skills?" I asked while stuffing the notepad into a back jeans pocket.

Ambrose laughed. "I've got some, but no. I was looking for the High Shenthaxa. I've got some questions, and personnel explained he was here with you taking inventory."

"He's around. I was checking this side, so he's likely across the chamber." I pointed at the far wall.

Ruqojjen was doing some weapon exercise in a region beyond the expansive shelves, one with open floor space. A roundhouse, a foot sweep, a one-two cross slash, and an upward thrust finished off his imaginary foe. Had the opponent been real, he or she would've found been carved up like the main course at a holiday feast. Ruqojjen was using a daukaisna, a Jrysthovuhn long sword, and his personal favorite. The daukaisna provided impressive reach, but wasn't so long that it became clunky in close encounters. It could function well in tight quarters, in the hands of an expert who understood its potential. It was heavy enough to provide worthy stopping power, but light enough too allow for quick, close-up movements. Its thick, subtly-curved blade was only single-edged, but with a serrated edge of titanium-reinforced diamond, one edge was more than enough.

If the rangamju could reach around shield walls, the daukaisna could tear them apart. But its weight and sharpness required extreme skill to use it effectively. It was a weapon so deadly it demanded respect from both its user and its target.

The wickedly-toothed blade was placed with its tip against the floor by its masterful wielder. "Corporal, come to help Ajanli finish the weapons inventory check?"

"Ha. I finished just seconds before he arrived. He's got something to ask." I glanced at the young soldier.

"I'll always listen to those important questions that should be asked, but remain unsaid." Open communication was a policy that Ruqojjen practiced.

Ambrose put his rangamju on the nearest arsenal shelf and flexed his right hand. "First off, don't take this the wrong way. I'm only curious. I don't per se disagree, and I certainly don't wish to imply disloyalty by questioning any of your principals."

If Ambrose was tense about asking his question, Ruqojjen eased him up, by laughing loud enough to cause a brief echo in the vast armory. "Corporal, asking for loyalty to the Nyufalng cause does not require a blind, unquestioning mindset. You can be respectful without kissing ass. In fact, the Nyufalng was founded _by_ conscious thought, not just for it. Blind unquestioning loyalty is a defining trait of our enemies. Some of them despise us for not adopting their sheep herd mentality. Ask away."

"I see." The corporal was a lot more casual and his voice more energetic. "I'm sure your justification is logical and pragmatic. What is your reasoning behind killing unarmed civilians?"

"A fair question, and as such it deserves a full answer." Ruqojjen spun the daukaisna on its point lightly. "They're enemies. They fund the taxation which keeps the armies on the move, and some of them issue the directives and orders which the army carries out. The unthinking masses of military personnel are simply the arm of the non-combatant nobles, acting more like programmed machines than people."

"There's a truth in this world," I stated "a truth that's become so subtle, it's basically overlooked. 'Helpless' and 'harmless' are _not_ synonyms. The two words have _very_ different meanings, and it's just pure ignorance to assume that one always goes hand-in-hand with the other. They often exist separately."

The High Shenthaxa elaborated. "Even the defenseless can rally the lemmings to their cause with propaganda. They can even use their state of helplessness to their advantage, drawing in sympathy by manipulating popular ethics in their favor. That changes nothing about their intentions and motives. They're still deceitful and power-hungry. When armed with charisma, even the most defenseless can inflict irreparable damage by playing social standards effectively." He ran his thumb upon the long sword's ovular pummel and cloth-wrapped handle. "If you cannot kill a defenseless manipulator, you yourself become defenseless to his or her scheming."

"I get your points, and more or less share them. I know the civilians make and shape the army." The Corporal tapped his fingers along the rim of his buckler. "But you do realize that killing unarmed civilians violates the supposed rules of warfare. Various powers that be will surely oppose and condemn you for it, despite of your sound reasoning. They won't share your logic."

"The rules," said the Nyufalng leader in a voice lacking emotion. "The basis for a set-in-stone morality, the backbone of order…and only as good as their makers. If those who set the laws are biased and view the world in nothing but absolutes, the codes they establish will be just as flawed." His eyes focused on me. "I need not repeat anything about the Council."

"Their laws suck shit." I said only what was necessary. Ambrose had never set foot in Jrysthovuh, so I picked an example he'd experienced. "The late Empire vowed to protect this land from outsiders. To that end, they succeeded. But could they protect anything from themselves?"

"Obviously not," the Corporal acknowledged. "And when Vector became the target of esper hatred, its protectors ultimately proved worthless. I understand the 'tyranny begins with law' saying, which was lost on me during the Empire's rule. But even if you're correct to slaughter enemy civilians, someone's going to despise you for it. I'll refer to that saying of those who live by the sword."

"At least we've _chosen_ to live as such, a decision made of deliberate freewill," I put in. "Our edge and cunning prepare us for any backlash."

Ruqojjen picked up the daukaisna and ran its dull side along his palm. "Corporal, said penalties also consume those who don't make such choices. I don't intend for ill reminders, but I'll refer to your late parents. How did they live? You father lived by a pottery kiln, your mother by a cookbook. How did they die? Shot full of arrows while fleeing slavery. Their pacifism was not rewarded."

Ambrose said nothing. Certainly he understood this concept as well. Still, thinking of his deceased family wasn't something he enjoyed. I brought the discussion to a new track. "You really think stricter laws will bring safety? Surely you know otherwise. You're not the only person to suffer the price of lawfulness."

Ruqojjen stepped back onto the open floor and performed a low sideways cut that would've taken off an opponent's toes, had the target been real. "Entire countries embrace ultra-rigid sets of laws, even in dire times of war, like no killing enemy civilians and no women and children on the battlefield. They might claim chivalry, but the truth is more hideous. In fact, that last part should be rephrased into women _as_ children, since it does little more than degrade grown females to the state of young children. It's nothing but candy-coated sexism that has won popularity contests for years." He cut an X pattern with two chops, as if to mutilate practitioners of the said misogyny. "Bear in mind, those who follow rules to the letter get punished by those who do not. That's precisely what happened with Farontaes."

Did Ambrose know that name? Sure enough, he proved knowledgeable. "Farontaes? You speak of King Farontaes of Doma."

"He's not King to us," I added. "Noble titles don't mean shit here in Nyufalng country."

Ruqojjen held the daukaisna parallel to the ground at shoulder level. "Farontaes gradually lost his war against the Imperial invaders. Doma's last stand was hold up in a solitary castle, the last bastion of unconquered soil. They managed to hold out beyond expectations, but a few gallons of poison dumped into their drinking water changed all that. The inevitable happened. The remains of the Doman resistance fell in just minutes, their fate sealed by their own prudish laws, and blind adherence therein."

"The poison was Palazzo's doing." Ambrose placed his shield next to the rangamju and removed his black leather gloves to scratch his palm. "How can one blame Doma his actions?"

"Palazzo was nothing but a dog with rabies that was let out of his cage." The Shenthaxa cut the air a few times. "Despise him if you will, but you can only blame him so much for the ills of the world. Most of his actions were preventable. Specifically, Doma's water supply was long and easily accessed. Palazzo tainted it from the comfort of his own camp. Logically, Doma should've anticipated the Empire would exploit this glaringly obvious weak point. And yet, they just turned blind eyes to their exposed weakness, and even blinder eyes to those who'd strike it."

"It's like they didn't expect such action on the Empire's part." I folded my arms. "They were stupid enough to think their rules would be shared by their enemies, and were caught off guard when reality proved otherwise. Nothing was unpredictable in what Palazzo did. Seriously, here's a man who burns _his own_ loyal followers alive during weaponry demos, and his _enemies_ underestimate him. What the fuck?" I almost laughed.

The Corporal re-covered his left hand. "So your claim is that Doma lost because they weren't smart enough or edgy enough to survive?"

I tossed a lock of hair over my shoulder. "Doma was easy prey for Palazzo. To this day, I'm still not convinced that Doma was fighting for victory. They fought to show off their goody-goody morality."

"And all they showed was how feeble and pathetic their morality was, especially against a foe who did not share it." Ruqojjen accented his words with an overheard vertical slash, assuming a kneeling posture as he swung downwards. The blade of the daukaisna stopped abruptly, less than an inch from the concrete floor. "Our saying of how even the lawful get punished should be more clear. There is no honor in stupidity."

"Those who follow rules to the letter get punished by those who do not. In the end, Doma could only blame itself for its defeat," said Ambrose while pulling his right glove back on. "I must admit, your unconventional stance allows perception that a typical stance does not. But I wonder, with all your trash-talking of conservative ethics, what's your view of anarchy, a system that eliminates rigid ethical structures?"

The Jrysthovuhn long sword was placed tip down once again. Ruqojjen's free hand gripped the Corporal's shoulder lightly. "All the potentials come to your mind. Keep thinking along those lines and we'll be addressing you as Sergeant Guellad very soon. Anarchy is nothing but trouble. I don't condone lawless chaos. It doesn't allow for any long-term potential. Those who can take what they desire will do so until there's nothing left to plunder. Even if you can pillage resources from others, resources are limited. And what happens when there's nothing left to steal? Even the thieves die out."

"Yes," Ambrose said flatly, grabbing his shield and rangamju off the weapon shelf. "As I'm not fighting in blind revenge, I can see the various possibilities that surround us. I hope we don't kill any of the wrong people, the ones who truly are harmless to us and our cause."

"Perceptive once again." The High Shenthaxa took a seat on a metal bench and blew some dirt off the blade's broadside. "When Yithadri and I created this movement, we instilled a principal which addressed that very concern. We honor and respect neutrality, on the occasions we encounter something that can be considered such. If you're not with us, you'd better not be against us."

"Obviously, stupid people don't count as neutral, but for those with functioning minds, we won't fuck with them, so long as _they_ don't fuck with _us."_

_change in s & n_

My alarm clock rang out, jarring me from sleep. Groggily, I reached for my nightstand and switched off the metallic buzzing, not even looking up from my pillow.

I had nothing scheduled for this day. Sleeping in was an option, and was exactly what I felt like doing right now. I'd spent the night restless and got very little sleep.

The last time we met, I implied my half-esper ancestry to Leonard without directly referencing myself. His reaction of doubting the human-to-esper love story from the ancient castle was discouraging, but I couldn't fault him for such skepticism. Had I not been a half-esper myself, I also would've scoffed at the tale, more than likely.

I took my chance and failed, which in turn left me clueless about my next step. If I told Leonard that I was born in another dimension like my father, what would happen? In truth, I didn't know, but having spent three years growing up after slaying Kefka and losing the Mobliz orphans to extended family adoption, I'd developed an intuition, not simply a woman's intuition, but one of common sense. If Leonard learned the truth about my lineage, his probable reaction would be negative. Of course it would. When the others brought Maduin's magicite remains back to Zozo after raiding the magitek labs, I learned the truth of my origins through a flashback, and my own reaction was negative. That phrase 'you're only human' couldn't apply to me.

I tightly gripped the sheets under my pillow. Leonard was unconvinced that humans and espers could produce children together, even though I'd informed him that both races lived in harmony, in a time long past. My sources for this information were the espers themselves. When I explained this to him at Ghearn's, he bought the story.

But social relations were a whole different category than biological mingling. How could I reveal my past to a man who'd already deemed the possibility a hoax?

Did I have to? Was it necessary that I tell Leonard of my half-esper bloodline? He didn't have to know, did he? Outside of my mixed-background, my past was very dull. I was kidnapped during infancy, enslaved with a device that suppressed memory, and spent eighteen years of my life as doll. My parents were killed and I was taken as a prize. That was it, that was my past, and I could explain it as such. It wasn't a lie. It simply omitted the half-esper part.

But…I was a famous Returner, a globally-recognized heroine. Word of my esper side could travel, as it had back in the days of fighting the Empire, and possibly find Leonard's ears. Someone could inadvertently reveal everything to him. I could keep a secret, but the world at large might not. They could assume Leonard already knew of my background, and casually mention it like just another piece of common sense.

Sooner or later, the man from Narshe would pick up on the detail he'd written off. If he was going to learn this truth, there was only one acceptable way. He'd learn about it directly from me.

But how? That question came back to mind. Now it was obvious, I could not escape answering it. I could feel it looming over me like a storm cloud, one that followed me every waking second, unnoticed to all but me. It could not be ignored any longer. I tensed up and clenched my teeth, ready to curse a full blue streak.

_**Dear, don't be so hard on yourself. You're unique as a half-esper. Not even your friends can claim such individuality.**_

"Father?" I relaxed slowly, loosening my grip on the sheets. The esper Maduin was communicating through telepathy. I rolled onto my back. "Father, did you sense my troubled thoughts and come to offer advice." Speaking aloud wasn't necessary. Maduin sensed my thoughts more than my actual spoken words, and since only I could hear him, explaining his voice to those within earshot was pointless. I was alone anyway.

_**I have little time for small talk. These telepathic links are random and only last minutes at a time. You're right to presume the discovery of your background won't be taken easily him. You took it hard yourself. You've built rapport with Leonard so far. Continue doing so. Sabin mentioned how you offer what Leonard rarely experienced; true understanding and acceptance. You and this man of interest are not so different. Take it gradually, one step at a time. If you don't open yourself to Leonard, you'll never know what he's been withholding all this time. Though I cannot sense his thoughts, it's safe to conclude that he needs you, even if he doesn't realize it.**_

While he was no longer part of this world, Maduin could still sense various goings on, especially when they filled my mind on a daily basis. Here, I was concerned if Leonard would accept me after learning of my true background. All the while, I was giving him the acceptance he rarely attained, until the day we crossed path unexpectedly. I saved his life, and he was grateful. That gratitude was the key. He'd listened so far, and if I spoke of the topic again, he'd listen some more.

_**I see you've already found the solution to your problem. All it takes is a little patience and a view of everything in the broader perspective. The dimensional inter-link is closing. Until next time, good luck my dear.**_

Maduin left me, but I'd gotten enough encouragement from him to feel rejuvenated. If I thought of something during our communications, Maduin received it instantly.

I'd be correct in revealing everything to Leonard slowly, but I no longer felt any doubts or confusion about having a moment of honest truth. I owed it to the man whose life I saved. Leonard Gurosawn wasn't perfect, and I doubted he wished to model himself after the exemplary, but he wasn't a bad person, no matter what Arvis or the Narshean public believed. His own closet was filled with baggage that he'd long since buried behind a locked door of unemotional stoicism. He'd benefit greatly from ejecting that baggage, and if opening myself to Leonard would help accomplish that, I had no reason to postpone leveling with him.

I pulled the covers off myself and stood up, no longer content to oversleep. The next time I saw Leonard, I'd begin the grand reveal. That was a promise, to myself, to him, and to my father.

_change in s & n_

Narshe's Rasnayffe District was largely residential, but it also bore commercial and industrial elements. In this neighborhood, it was not uncommon to find a school cattycorner to a major commerce plaza, or to have apartments right across the street from a packaging warehouse. This was stop number two on Joe's guided tour of Narshe.

We stepped off the train. "Welcome to Rasnayffe Joe. There's no access to the moogle caves here, but it's nonetheless a versatile district."

"I'll say. Major streets are more common here." Joe pulled a city map from his jacket. This map color-coded the various neighborhoods.

Rasnayffe was a point where urban met suburban. A point of interest here was the local fair grounds, which hosted the flea market. If Joe's products were in demand, he'd no doubt find his niche here. The fair was closed today, so there was no point in loitering. We caught a wagon and rode north along the main drag.

Ten minutes later, the coach dropped us off at my request. As the 'tour guide', I paid the charge for us both. The driver went on his route as we observed the latest hotspot.

Narshe had many libraries, but the Rasnayffe Library was one of the best. A three story building, its ornate stonework suggested a museum of sorts, until one read the copperplate letters grafted above the doors. There was a new feature here, a large black statute of an abstract figure clutching a mining pick in one hand, and a rifle-axe in the other. It stood upon a cylindrical concrete pedestal.

Joe and I proceeded toward the library's front steps. "You know, the library interacts with the local chamber of commerce from time to time. If you're curious about selling jewels at the flea market, you should ask a reference clerk." I got no answer. "Joe? Where are…"

I looked back. The merchant was at the base of the black statute. Something about this new decoration captured his interest.

I walked to his side. Joe was eyeing an engraved bronze plaque fixed to the pedestal. "To those who were lost…your contributions to our city-state…" He read snippets of the text. Finally, he looked up with a serious face. "Leonard, what do you know about this? It's dated four months ago, and appears to be some major event that would make headlines."

His curiosity triggered my own. I began reading the inscription…and only had to read the first sentence. I frowned, felt my stomach turn, and my throat dry out.

He was bound to learn sometime. That sometime was now. I looked up at the lacquered statue. How did I miss the connection? The humanoid figure gripping both a tool of the mining industry and a military-issue weapon should've gotten the message across. The writing on the plaque literally spelled it out.

This statute was a monument to those who perished in the Shedairah mining and military complex.

For reasons very different than Joe's, I was mesmerized by this work of stone. He was simply curious. I was presented with a grim reminder of my ordeal.

"Leonard? Are you okay?"

I could not withhold the truth from him anymore. Hopefully, Joe had a decent first impression of Narshe, and this latest discovery wouldn't deter him from exploring my hometown. "This incident struck the town hard. The public is still reeling from it."

"What was it, an explosion, a gas leak?" asked the peddler with a voice betraying no urgency. He stayed composed, something I was moderately struggling with at the moment.

I took a deep breath, a simple act that quelled the pulse and eased the mind. "We don't really know. So far, the best explanation is that mining activity in the caverns under the base stirred up unrecorded classes of wildlife, and the result was a rampage on the creatures' behalf, which left hundreds of workers and troops dead. Since then, we've thankfully had no similar incidents in town." So far, I'd been truthful, despite my weak stomach. The lab leech and the arena killings occurred outside of Narshe.

Joe mumbled something before looking up at the statute. I leaned against the pedestal and looked down at the pavement. Not only was I dealt an explicit reminder of the bloodbath, I had openly discuss it. Except for the background noises of pedestrians, there was silence. Neither of us said a word.

Then I struck me. I could clear my mind if I concentrated on other topics. The library, not this memorial, was the reason for our presence. Joe was still eyeing the statue. I tapped his shoulder. "Let's go inside."

I expected enthusiasm on Joe's part. But instead of jumping at the chance to explore the library, he asked, "Did you know anyone who died there? You look queasy"

I gulped nervously. Already was the massacre's effect illustrated before me, and now I was being asked to _explain_ a very personal detail.

Maybe I was getting paranoid. Maybe Joe was trying to be sympathetic. He'd picked up on my reactions to this memorial statue, reactions I made no efforts to hide. And he didn't yet know of the detail I wanted kept secret the most, my near-death experience. "I wasn't close to them, but yes, I did know a few people." My answer was another-half truth. I had a mutual animosity with Quentir Braslino and Major Blockhead, so I wasn't close to either of them.

Joe nodded, stretched, and read the inscription plaque again. I gave in to my anxiety, hell bent on getting both our minds off the Shedairah killings before Joe asked more questions. "Let's explore the tome house. We came here for that very purpose, remember?"

"Of course, of course. Lead the way, my personal tour guide."

For the rest of the 'tour', Joe said nothing about Shedairah. But the more I pondered it, the more something didn't sit right. Joe wasn't nervous like I anticipated. Realistically, a tale of intelligent monsters that went berserk and killed people by the hundreds would fill the everyman with shear terror, instantly. The experienced Returners were hardly comfortable with the notion of mega-beasts clawing and biting their way to the top of the biological chain. Such tales would evoke horrified reactions.

Joe's 'piss poems' were esoteric, but explainable. His casual indifference to the nature of Shedairah was something else. Did the peddler have some morbid fascination with dangerous animals?

Or was I just getting paranoid again? Maybe Joe's reaction was to not waste any thoughts or words on the dreaded topic. If he didn't mention it, I wouldn't have to think about it, and that's precisely what I wanted. He wasn't dwelling, and neither would I.

_change in s & n_

Tzen's best military asset was its artillery. The photon cannons used by House Virnone's forces were but one piece of their arsenal.

After scouting various regions of the Kavaryts Lowlands, our recon teams found the perfect place to assault the Tzenish brigade in its tracks. This region had uneven stone ground, a modest slope covered in heavy plant life along one side, and various rock formations scattered about. The brigade didn't expect a death trap waiting for them in this widespread basin of the lowlands; they hadn't sent any scouts to secure this area.

Thus far, we had the element of surprise; the Tzenish brigade was prepared to fight Albrooker forces close to Albrook itself. They didn't anticipate a clash at this point in their march, certainly not with us Nyufalng. Hell, they didn't even know we existed.

We had obscurity for now. We wouldn't have it forever, so we'd use it while it lasted. Ultimately, this would be a very confrontational fight, against a whole brigade of House Virnone's finest, armed and ready to dish it out.

But even against 5'000 or more high-ranking Gestahl lovers, we still packed our share of assets and edges. We had some new and improved creations among us, and they were both deadly and reliable. As was routine before any mission, all five Pung Thoshidai had fed their essences with blood energy, charging their abilities to maximum capacity. Mid-level Nyufalng staff had lesser augments of their own, and had the proper discipline to use such organic weapons effectively. Those of us without augments were armed to the teeth with weapons for the job. Our non-augmented counterparts would prove no less formidable.

We also had some terrain advantages. The rough ground would hinder movements of the walking armors, and this area in particular did not allow for long-range radio reception. Our groups could easily communicate with each other, but Tzen's brigade would have no such luck reaching their HQ far away.

We could outclass this brigade of Tzenish drones. Physically, they were only human. Mentally, they were much less. They only fought for their country and for their House. We fought for something vastly more significant. Without the Divine, there would be no countries or Houses. There'd be nothing.

The sun had gone down, but the sky had yet to darken. Huddled in our positions, we could see the basin clearly, the rough open spaces and the wooded slopes beyond. Chithagu kept his eyes fixed on the rocky path, silent and attentive. From my vantage point, I could see a few other creations behaving similarly.

Ambrose reached into his gear bag. "I hope the Tzenish troops brought hammers, because I've got plenty of nails." He removed a metal canister from the sack. Its exterior was studded with carpentry nails, and a long fuse wrapped around the lid, entering a hole in the center.

"Oh, a nail bomb," I said, observing the homemade device of death.

Qaurjaeda sneered. "That's really gonna lay down the…corporal punishment."

"Pitiful," groaned Baokiydu, unimpressed with the Grav-wielder's latest joke.

A light flashed on the Corporal's gauntlet. He tapped a button and placed the armored cuff to his right ear. "Guellad." He listened, shut off the radio and faced us. "That was the Major. The Colonel's group has visual confirmation of the enemy." He stared off at the tree line across the basin. "The Captain's group also knows."

"Yes." Baokiydu slowly blinked, focusing his vision to a certain light or substance frequency. "I can pick out their organic biological mass. It's huge, as a brigade would be."

Crouching behind a protrusion of rock, I couldn't see anything. I stood up just enough to see past our cover element. Minutes later, I saw movement at the basin's north end. The brigade was entering this crater-like feature of geography. A full line of chocobo riders was in the lead, many of them carrying lances with the banner of House Virnone. Another line was directly behind them, and a few armor units were lumbering amongst the cavalry.

The front line touched down on the basin floor, with more troops and armors filing in behind them. The basin's mouth was narrow, and the units all spread out upon clearing the entryway. Each walking armor was surrounded by a dozen or so foot soldiers. The bi-pedal war machines were the Empire's trademark before the great collapse. In this Post-Imperial age, they were iconic of the Imperial loyalist House Virnone. Like idol, like ass-kisser.

These models didn't have an open-air cockpit. Instead, they sported a flip-down visor which covered the pilot. Still, we had special offences that could penetrate such enclosures.

The entrance was void of troops. Were they all down here in the basin? Ambrose got back on his radio to answer another transmission. Sure enough, the full enemy was gathered before us.

Even while the Tzenish trademark was artillery, this brigade had plenty of cavalry and infantry to back up the heavy weapons. It was a practical move on their part. The ground was taxing for the armor units. Their bulky feet were very unsteady on the jagged basin floor, their movement was slow and their posture cumbersome.

The military marched across the basin, the riders and foot troops keeping pace with the lumbering armors. Ambrose pulled some binoculars from his bag and viewed the enemy's distant flank. "I knew it. It's entirely male. Not a female to be seen amid this unit."

Dyal'xern snickered. "Of course not. The female gender of Tzen is bound to the home, having children by the dozen to produce the next generation of military lemmings."

"Like robust breeding," I put in.

"Worse Ajalni." Dyal'xern lowered his voice. "In Tzen, it's done _voluntarily._"

"Oh." I observed Sdalsyra. She was quiet, but that was only a surface-level display. Words could not match the death glare she sent the Tzenish brigade, their massive number reflected in her shiny eyes.

At last she opened her mouth. "They'll need that next generation after we're finished here." Her voice was calm, almost flat and emotionless.

My heart raced. Chithagu wagged his tail with excitement. Ambrose drew his crossbow and presented the nail bomb to Baokiydu, whose free hand started lighting up. The area surrounding Dyal'xern was getting blurry. Dark, thick slime oozed from Sdalsyra's fingers. Qaurjaeda's hand rested on a stone the size of a canoe. I loaded a crossbow of my own. The vuork-hiylsh and daukaisna were beyond me, but I was a decent shot with compact bolts.

The steps of booted feet, chocobo talons, and mechanical legs echoed throughout the basin. We watched them, and they just kept marching forward. I observed each field of scenery, the rock formations immediately before us, the wooded region in the distance, and in the middle, the southbound sample of military might. When the brigade's midsection reached a certain spot, the Captain would give the signal. Taking shallow but sustained breaths, I watched the far off trees, observant for that one sign.

Then it came. It was small, no larger than a sewing needle at this distance, but I saw the arrow fly out from the trees. It struck a rider in the nearest flank, and the man toppled sideways off his chocobo. The wait was over. We'd paint this basin red.

Creations growled and snarled, and our own troops yelled curses while unloading a storm of bolts and bullets. In seconds, dozens of riders and infantry were shot dead in the nearest flanks. We hit fast, hard, and from many sides when they least expected it. I stood from cover and let loose an arrow, nailing a foot soldier in the chest. We'd refined our bow bolts using a Jrysthovuhn metal technique, resulting in ammo that could pierce Tzenish riveted chainmail. Ambrose finished another man off with a bolt to the neck.

The Pung Thoshidai, their Pirusymn stones emitting colorful auras, targeted the armor units, the brigade's primary offence. Qaurjaeda tossed his rock at the nearest armor. The visor was smashed and the pilot faired no differently. The armor toppled backwards, crushing two more infantrymen. Dyal'xern leapt just over the rock formation and pushed out with both hands, hurling a blur of distorted mass at the next closest artillery unit. The hazy object slammed into the piloting bank. With a shower of visor chunks and blood, this armor also collapsed. Sdalsyra twirled her slime thread before letting it fly at another walking armor. The blob splashed against the armors backside, sparks and smoke shot out form the point of contact, and the engine blew apart.

I aimed and shot a bolt into the neck of a mounted chocobo. The huge bird went down and its rider scrambled to grab a shield as more bolts rained upon him. Baokiydu touched his glowing finger against the nail bomb's wick and threw the improvised weapon into the mass of troops below. It landed near one more armor unit, this one still defended by an infantry squad. The explosion annihilated the closest men, leaving charred corpses behind. Those further out were lacerated by the nails. The blast also took out the armor's left leg. The contraption fell, and its pilot forced open the cockpit hatch. His escape was cut short from the Corporal's next arrow, which struck the pilot's nose.

Chithagu made slurping noises before spewing an object forth into the mass of solders. It looked like an embryonic sack with fangs protruding out from the surface. It pulsed like a heart before exploding, pelting the nearest troops and chocobos with the fangs. An organic shrapnel bomb.

I allowed myself a quick scan of the trees across the basin. Arrows rained down from the greenery, and creations were doing their jobs too. Bright gold zigzags burst from the wooded regions, nailing armor units, riders, and infantry squads alike. The brigade's western flank was being torn apart.

We'd done our share of butchering the eastern flank. Qaurjaeda tossed a log at a unit of armor, one farther out than the previous targets. Dyal'xern sent another hazy 'body blast' of tampered air toward another far unit. All the close ones had been destroyed. Sdalsyra's latest blob landed on a chocobo's collar. The bird squawked before its head fell off. The rider got similar treatment, a glob around his neck that broke open his jugular vein.

In just one minute, more than a thousand of this brigade's personnel had fallen. We'd effectively slain both sides of the group's midsection, leaving two larger end parties connected by a smaller central one.

Baokiydu tossed another nail bomb into the Tzenish crowd. This blast destroyed three shields and the foot grunts behind them, tore a chocobo in half, and gutted its rider. Without admiring his work, he looked south. "The front lines are pulling back."

Striking the brigade's central mass from both sides was a deliberate strategy on our part. The frontlines had ceased their advance and fell back to assist the brigade's massacred core, thus changing their formation. The front had made its move. It was time for our next maneuver.

Kneeling behind the rock formation, Ambrose got on his radio and informed the Captain about the frontlines' activity. "It's time," He announced amid gunfire, explosions, and screams of dying House Virnone troops. "Close the trap."

"Right." Qaurjaeda threw one more log at the remaining midsection troops. "Ajalni, saddle up. Now we get up close and messy."

Chithagu, sit." The beast obeyed, squatting down as I climbed upon his back. I hung my crossbow in a pouch of his customized saddle before taking the reins. "Follow Qaurjaeda. We're taking these motherfuckers head on."

"We're is go charge," he said with his typical bad grammar.

We used rock forms and ditches in the basin floor to cover our movements. Hundreds of creations, some alone, some with mounted riders, were alongside us.

The frontlines had retreated past our outmost position. Now for taking center stage and 'shutting the trap'. With the frontlines joining the midlines, we spotted the signal and charged diagonally, progressing towards the basin's midpoint while chasing the cavalry. Our group from the east edge met the group from the west edge, and our two parties created a V formation behind the retreating front ranks. The brigade's remnants already were boxed in from both sides, and we'd just sealed an opening at the front.

As the V leveled off into sturdy lines, the Tzenish opposition realized we'd flanked them from behind. Now they had a dilemma; take us on or assist the nearly-obliterated midlines. The mounted frontlines pulled one more about-face. Some officer of high rank waved a bannered lance in a fashion that signaled forward; the cavalry charged.

We charged back, and then some. Our creations had weapons of their own, with longer reach than Tzenish javelins. Trails of energy burst from a several Nyufalng steeds, nailing distant Tzenish mounts. The dead, fallen chocobo carcasses tripped other mounts that followed. Some mounts on our side were airborne. They flew in for the kill with bladed wings and spiked tails that gored and beheaded the mounted cavalry.

Our line met theirs, and theirs fell upon contact. Chocobo's weren't carnivorous, and thus lacked a natural offence, something our mounts possessed. Teeth and claws demoted cavalry troops to infantry soldiers, if the rider survived. Qaurjaeda grabbed a chocobo and leapt high. He dropped down and slammed the bird against the ground with the rider underneath. When another steed rushed him, he repeated the jump grab, this time hurling both rider and mount at the nearest line of charging steeds, killing enemies with enemies.

A foot troop engaged me from the right side, carrying a rifle. To a lesser extent, his weapon was much like the photon artillery cannons, deadly but quite impractical to aim, especially when up close. I had ample time to give him a tongue thrust before he could ready his piece. His heart ruptured against my taste buds, and I withdrew my red-soaked tongue as he coughed up blood and feel to his knees.

I pulled my bow-gun from the pouch and aimed at the next foot soldier. My shot stunned him, impaling his crotch. With him thus preoccupied, another of our creations rushed him, this one mounted by a woman who cut him down with a halberd in her passing.

We resumed our course, Chithagu clawing and trampling the immediate House Virnone's infantry grunts while I tongue-speared any that he'd missed. When none were close, I used the bow-gun while he belched more tumor bombs into clusters of enemies.

The armor units, the might of Tzen's arsenal, were now proving themselves the most ineffective weapons on this battlefield. They couldn't move or pivot in place without losing their footholds, and their photons couldn't line up a shot against our much faster creations. While an armor looked in a certain direction, a creation or two would attack from a blind spot, killing the pilot and destroying the war vehicle.

Chithagu's Pirusymn stone was glowing. My steed's abilities were different from the other four Pung Thoshidai. Chithagu could alter and morph parts of his body for various circumstances. "Wag tail," he said. This was an announcement, not a request. 'Wag tail' was his semi-articulate reference to lengthening his tail and studding it with coarse bone spikes that almost paralleled a daukaisna blade. We continued our charge, this time in a wave pattern, his tail becoming a hefty, barbed whip through each turn, taking riders off their steed and knocking infantry to the ground. Showers of gore sprayed about with each tail motion.

We cleared a path, leaving a trail of dead and dying grunts in our wake. A mounted chocobo had engaged us, so we happily returned the favor. Chithagu cut to the left and swung his tail out low. The chocobo's leg armor seemed paper-thin as his tail cut through the bird's ankles like a hacksaw. The hobbled mount tumbled forwards, its momentum doing what its severed feet could not. The bird crashed upright on its face, rolling forward and crushing the rider.

Mindful of the widespread action, I spurred Chithagu forward. There were still a couple thousand more Empire lovers to shred and grind. We pushed west, reaching the other side of the basin. I allowed myself a quick glance of the surrounding enemy. Their formations had collapsed, dispersed thanks to our multi-angled assault. Our own numbers had charged the degenerating enemy ranks, resulting in hand-to-hand exchanges. An armor unit was approaching the close-quarter melee.

Surely it was just another slow-to-aim-and-charge photon blaster that we could rush, evade, and take down. But no, as I got closer, I saw a brand new piece of Tzen's heavy siege offence.

Reports were sketchy, but our small net of contacts in Tzen did groundwork in the House's artillery division. There'd been rumors of new, innovative weapons being produced and tested in the factories.

One had now reached completion, and was a functioning model used in the field.

This unit had arms attached to its body. Both robot arms ended in long tubes bundled five to a set. I'd seen drawings of these fabled pieces, and knew how they performed.

Each arm was a cannon with five barrels that rotated for increased rapid fire. The long tubes gave the projectiles a lengthy range of effectiveness, and the shots themselves were no less formidable. These cannons used round metallic spheres some five inches in diameter, but a heavy ten pounds in weight. A very powerful spring mechanism was the firing measure. No explosive powder was necessary. The ammunition was basic, so much that fired balls could be recollected, reloaded, and reused, diminishing ammo concerns immensely. As if the firepower, fire rate, and reusable ammo weren't fierce enough, these cannons were mounted on arms that could be articulated freely at various angles horizontally and vertically.

These were rapid-fire catapults with mobility that greatly compensated for the armors' impaired movement. And one such cannon was pointed at our nearest line!

These orb launcher weapons came to life. They made loud 'GWAK' noises with each shot, and there were plenty of targets. Though a nearby creation withstood the first few hits, it quickly succumbed, its skull bursting apart as more oversized ball bearings struck dead center at full speed. Our foot personnel faired even worse. A Nyufalng man took an orb in the face, denting his mask inwards. Blood squirted from the mask's breathing holes, and our man went down.

A flying mount swept down from above, but the sphere launcher countered with some upward shots, hitting the creation's wing and even nailing the rider with enough force to knock her off the ride. The arm was aimed back at ground level, and both cannons were unloading their smokeless cannon balls into our fleeting ranks. Creations and troops fell back, but the range of the metallic spheres was impressive. Distance alone wouldn't remove us from their firing line.

The unit was now aiming for one particular steed and rider. "Run!" I shouted. Chithagu didn't need a second order. He broke into a sprint, cutting across the basin, back towards the east edge. For evasive measures, I steered him side to side at random intervals. It proved wise. The sphere cannon pilot had sighted us, and several balls shot past only yards away. In moments, we were nearing the eastern rock formations. A quick scan to the left revealed more armors firing away with sphere cannons. Surviving Tzenish infantry had taken positions at the machines' feet, covering the armors' blind sides.

"Ajalni. Why you are steer at crash thing?" In rare moment, Chithagu's attention span exceeded my own. A ruined, fallen unit of armor was straight ahead, and I was absentmindedly directing Chithagu into the smoldering wreckage. Happily, he reacted before I did. He didn't need prompts, and knew that some decisions preceded commands. He steered himself without my saying a word.

Unfortunately, his choice of direction wasn't the best. Instead of cutting to the right and using the junk heap as cover, he cut to the left, placing us between the useless armor and the functioning ones. This presented an opportunity for the pilots to...

A metallic orb struck squarely in my left breast.

Initially, the feel of being airborne overrode any pain. But once my back hit the stone ground, the agony became obvious. Though I'd been wearing a plated undergarment beneath my shirt, my armored bra did little to cushion the blow. Cursing, dazed, and winded, I sat up in time to witness Chithagu dash into cover amid the rock forms, his saddle empty. I tried calling for him, but that only agitated my aching breast. Visual details blurred into each other.

"Monstrous bitch!" My vision was distorted, but I could still hear accurately. A man in Tzenish military colors stood with shield and sword, ready to cut me down. But I didn't see one man, I saw two. Identical images spun in a clockwise pattern. I couldn't tell which image was real.

Dizzy and winded from the orb shot's blunt force, I could only dodge the man's attack. I rolled over and got to my feet, dashing in the general direction where Chithagu had gone. Maybe he'd notice me and come out. I made it a few yards until my foot snagged something below. My hands shot forward before I knew it, catching me against the rough basin ground. I knew the enemy was on my heels.

He was up close now. I couldn't stand and outrun him. My only chance was in some wide, un-aimed tongue slashes. They wouldn't be very lethal, but they'd keep him off my back. I readied myself.

There came a new sound, a sudden banging of metal against metal. I turned and saw the Tzenish man standing against someone else, obviously from our numbers. I shut one eye to observe Ambrose Guellad use his buckler to deflect the man's blade. The Nyufalng Corporal's drawn weapon was a rangamju. Using it properly, the young man swung at the enemy's shield hand with the curved scythe blade, reaching around the handheld defense. The sickle did its job, for the Tzenish man screamed, the shield falling to his feet. Using the hammer end of the rangamju, Ambrose bashed the man's head, sending his helmet flying. A reverse swing from the hammer struck his exposed face. Amid a wet cracking noise, blood, skull shards, and an eyeball flew freely.

My chest still ached. I coughed twice before the Corporal joined me. "Ajalni. You okay? Can you stand?"

"I'll li…guhhh…live." Talking wasn't easy. My ribs were likely fractured on some level.

The Corporal stuck his rangamju in his belt and took my hand. "I saw you take that blow. You're lucky it was a long-range shot. At close range, I saw one shot go clear through a woman's torso like a drill through cardboard.

I stood with his help. The dizziness was gone seconds later. "My armored bra certainly helped. Where's Chithagu?"

"I here from Corporal order. Oops that I'm did no realize you fall." It was the best apology he could verbalize, and it was much appreciated. I mounted him, and Ambrose took a seat behind me, grabbing the reins next to my own hands. At my order, Chithagu carried us both to cover behind the rock formations.

Once there, I found some dead troops from our side. At least three men and two women had their faces bashed in. I snuck a peak at the remaining enemies. Various foot troops went about collecting metallic balls, piling them at the nearest armor for later use. Other soldiers were gathering shields from their deceased numbers. They were up to something.

A woman's groan got my attention. I turned…and was in for a shock. Sdalsyra's nose was bent to the side, and a nasty, gaping wound covered her temple. Her Pirusymn stone glowed whiteness, tinting out its regular color. Two metal spheres had gotten head shots on the Corrodess.

Blood surrounded the injuries on her face. It looked black in this dusk lighting. It wasn't pouring out in buckets. She'd managed to stop the flow. Of course. She was using energy from her essence to heal the wounds. That explained the color of her Pirusymn. A normal human would've been dead from just one hit, yet she survived both. However, despite her class of Pung Thoshidei, she didn't have invincibility. How much energy was required to heal those wounds? Whatever the amount, her offensive talents would be diminished.

She wiped blood from her lips and chin. "Those fuckin' shots went right through my elasticized shield bubble, stretching it enough to breech. The force behind those cannon tubes is definitely something we can't mock."

"You're telling me. I took one in the breast. My bra stopped it, but I still felt the impact." And that area was still sore.

"Booby blast," she joked, trying to lighten the mood without success. "Corporal, what's the status of our party on the western side."

"Qaurjaeda's with em'. They're holding, but they're also pinned. They can't join us here. In short, Tzen's caught in a pincer, but we're divided. "

"What about Baokiydu and Dyal'xern?" I asked. They both remained here as we charged the front ranks.

"They went for the back ranks." Sdalsyra gestured north. "Most of these orb launchers were originally in the brigade's rear, a literal backseat surprise."

Carefully, Ambrose peeked over the rock formation that provided cover. "Shit! A shield wall's marching toward us."

"Fuck!" I looked about. We could retreat further back into the rock garden. Tzen's troops would catch up eventually, but their numbers had decreased, and pulling back into the rocks would remove them from artillery support.

"Corrosive?" Ambrose asked of Sdalsyra.

"My essence is going on overdrive to quickly heal these wounds." She pointed at her face. "My corrosive fluids require the most energy to create, and that energy's going to my regenerative abilities now."

"What about slosh? It's cheaper." I knew this because the female Pung Thoshidei had mentioned these facts a couple times.

"I'll give it what I can." She stood, knees bent, hunched behind the rock protrusion. Metallic spheres whizzed past over our heads, banging against the rocks beyond. "Give me something to fuel my essence, and I'll deliver the corrosive."

"Whatever you're planning, do it fast," urged the Corporal. "The shield line is headed for a gap in the rock wall, coming from the left."

We followed Sdalsyra to the gap, a moderate slope that led down to the basin's floor. The Corrodess inhaled deeply. Her Pirusymn regained its usual color. She juggled something in her mouth, swishing it from one cheek to the other. Finally, she let it loose.

Slosh was the most basic of her abilities, a skill that bore no attacking or offensive qualities. Yet its practical defensive use would not be overlooked, especially in times like these. A fountain of liquid gushed out from Sdalsyra's mouth, a gray stream with the density of lubricant grease. The slosh coated the gap's top, and dripped down the ramp below.

Not a moment too soon. The shielded lines appeared. The front rows held their tower shields before them, while the rows behind placed their coverings overhead, creating a mobile siege chamber. "This puddle is all I can generate." Sdalsyra looked down at her work. "But if you get me some essence filler, I'll create more."

"Got it," I acknowledged. She stood back as Ambrose and I took point around corners from the ramp, Chithagu at my side. I briefed him on the plan.

The row of marching shields was almost upon us. All that stood between them and us was the slosh puddle. The front row finally stepped upon the coated area. The advance halted, the front row staggering and slipping backwards into their peers. The slosh did its job, keeping the troops from getting a secure foothold against the rock. On a slope, the goo's efficiency would multiply.

I waited for the first opening. I got it when a man in the front stumbled forward, exposing the man behind. He was open, the shield him. I thrust out with my tongue, nailing his chest. After feeling around, I snagged what I wanted and pulled back, the man's heart gripped by the blades on my tongue. I tossed the blood-pumping muscle to Sdalsyra.

Ambrose did his own version of cardiac surgery. His rangamju came down on the fallen man, the scythe blade impaling his back and shoulders. The Corporal yanked his weapon back, dragging the dead enemy. Flipping the corpse over, Ambrose swung the sickle into the man ribcage. With a few tugs and a broken sternum, the heart was removed and placed at Sdalsyra's feet. She took both organs, held them up, and squeezed. Two blood falls poured into her mouth.

The shield formation was quickly disintegrating. The infantry couldn't keep its footing on the greasy incline. Chithagu reached for a shield and grabbed it, pulling it and its holder down. With a claw swipe, he broke the man's neck. "The heart. Pull it out," I instructed. He obediently tore into the dead man's back, tossing leather, chainmail, and flesh astray before breaking the ribs and reaching the organ in question. Blood was spilling onto the ramp, adding to the slosh and increasing the slip factor.

"I'm ready." Sdalsyra had fed her essence with blood energy, enough to create acid that could rust the shields. The indigo slime blobs dripped from her fingers, and she flung them at the closest targets. Upon contact, there was fizzing. When the bubbles receded, rust spots remained.

Once the wall of defunct cover was in range, Ambrose struck out with the rangamju's hammer. The shield broke like a pottery vase, the man behind it startled and motionless. His jaw dropped, only to get impaled by the rangamju's needle tip. Chithagu turned and pushed out with his spiked tail, demolishing another shield, and the chest of the wielder. Once the man fell, I ripped out his heart with a tongue thrust, giving Sdalsyra another present. We built a functioning pattern; slime shield, destroyed it, kill soldier, remove heart, drink blood, repeat as necessary. With the ramp slippery, the shielded troops couldn't charge. Those who tried immediately stumbled over, becoming easy prey. We destroyed four additional rows of men before those in the back retreated.

This gave us an opening of sorts, at the slope's bottom. An orb shooter was firing away close by, but its infantry support was gone, likely dead at our feet. The pilot was looking up and ahead, not down and to his right. He didn't notice us, but Sdalsyra noticed him and his unguarded machine. One more slime glob oozed form her palm, this one larger then the previous ones. She wound it like a sling before throwing it against the armor's leg.

Taking down this armor created yet another opening for us. Our numbers stood from cover and let loose on the next closest orb cannon. That battle had turned once again. The demise of one armor allowed us to take positions and destroy another, until there were no more functioning units of artillery. The surviving brigade staff no longer had its best weaponry. Our remaining troops and creations picked off more foot soldiers. A horn blared, and all survivors wearing a House Virnone uniform were pulling back to the north, where they'd come in. The House's lackeys were retreating, running from us Nyufalng.

Their retreat was also part of our battle plan.


	21. The Tense Calm

**Chapter 21: The Tense Calm**

Unless they're restrained or incapacitated somehow, cornered enemies are the most dangerous and unpredictable kind.

We learned that lesson the hard way, after the second riot in the Albrook dungeon killed several guards and soldiers before it was contained. Some of imprisoned nobles committed suicide, as their life of unearned luxury had been stripped in ways they'd never imagined. The captured troops and guards however, weren't so quick to roll over and die for real. They simply played dead while the prison guards opened the cells to remove the bodies of deceased captives. The living captives assumed the roles of their dead counterparts, waiting for the jail staff to remove them from the cells. Once out, they used their limited strength and the element of surprise to get the upper hand. They even tried passing as Nyufalng personnel, but when they didn't know the password required to enter and exit the prison complex, their secret was blown, and the riot commenced.

We learned something from that experience.

The Tzenish troops were pulling back in droves. The horn tone that signaled for retreat sounded again and again, matching the frantic pace of the foot soldiers as they stepped over their dead comrades. We didn't give chase, as our plan was not to chase them, only to funnel them into the basin's northern entryway.

Cornering them would ultimately prove disadvantageous. As we'd learned from the dungeon riot, cornered enemies are the ones who fight with every last ounce of strength and zealotry. They'll fight without reserve, a single thought filling their minds; to either win or go down fighting to the very end. The larger the group, the more intense the fury, as the enemy numbers will feed from one another's adrenaline. Only if they have a means to escape will they keep that berserk fury held inside.

We gave the remaining Tzenish troops that means of escape…or so they believed.

I spurred Chithagu forward while gripping the reins of his saddle. Ambrose sat behind me, also holding the reins. We kept the fleeing survivors in our sights, watching them rush up the incline which fed into the northern mouth of the basin. Sure enough, they dog-piled into the space from which they'd entered, their numbers fewer and their spirits broken.

They were exactly where we hoped they'd be.

Explosions flared up from the rocks atop the basin's mouth. Huge yellow fireballs flamed outwards, sending giant clouds of smoke puffing up with each blast. And while the clouds drifted upwards, something else rained down.

Rock chunks broke away from the cliff walls that formed the entry channel, creating a hailstorm of solid stone. The escape route we'd set up for House Virnone's military forces had now become a death trap like the basin. Several debris chunks smashed against the floor below, crushing troops by the dozen. Entire squads were buried by the unnatural rock slide. They'd rushed into the mouth void of second thoughts, and were unable to comprehend that even a retreat path had fast become a grave.

The last explosions went off, and the last blankets of dust floated up and spread thin. We could finally observe the results, and declare our victory.

There were no signs of life in the piles of rock shards, but atop the cliffs was much different. There was movement, plenty of it. Something on the Corporal's gauntlet flashed, and he let go of the rein to answer the radio. After a string of 'yessirs', he clicked off the com-link and said, "No survivors were found in those rock heaps. The newbs did their part well. And it didn't require any augmentations, just some good old-fashioned TNT."

The 'newbs' was a slang term for our younger, lower-ranking members, some of whom had yet to finish basic training. Witnessing this battle and setting off those explosive charges would likely complete their course. After all, what better way to harden rookies for combat than to actually have them watch a battle from afar, and even take a backdoor part? While most of us laid waiting down in the basin, the Colonel and some Lieutenants oversaw the newbs atop the entry cliffs. Under the officers' command, the rookies set off the explosives at the precise moment, when the enemy was retreating down below. Before the fight, Tzen's numbers were too great to bury in that channel completely, but once we did our part in the basin, the rookies could do theirs. We gave the Tzenish force a _perceived_ means of escape, but it was really just another mass tomb in the end.

"If they keep up this great work, you won't be calling them newbs for long." I couldn't resist cracking a smile, even though Ambrose was behind me and unable to see it. "They'll be promoted very quickly, earning the ranks of Corporals."

"Ajalni, when they reach Corporal, I'll be ascending the ranks of Sergeant. I'll still pull rank on them, just as I can pull rank on you." Though I couldn't see his face, I knew Ambrose was smiling from the tone of his voice. "You're not even a Private."

I could only chuckle. "Oh really, I'm Ruqojjen and Yithadri's…'foster niece'. That should count for something."

I'd never seen Ambrose's humor style. Though he wasn't stiff and rigid by any means, I'd not seen him display a facet of shits and giggles until now.

The humor was appreciated, because now came a less-invigorating task. We'd won this battle. Not a single Tzenish soldier had escaped from this basin. With victory boosting our egos, it was time for the cleanup; tending to our wounded and collecting the dead, both ours and the opposition's. Our own losses could feed the Divine post-mortem with their blood. Even in death, our Nyufalng brothers and sisters could do something. As for enemy losses, we'd gather them up, bring them back to Albrook, and decide their use later on.

_change in s & n_

Sabin lived with Marielle in a multi-room cottage on the northern edge of my capital. Their dwelling was along a mountain trail at the base of the Hyaxulan Range, part of a growing neighborhood. Various residents had already set up walls to form clearly defined backyards, and Sabin and Marielle were no exception. They planted a vegetable garden in that yard, and a Marielle kept an average flower garden in the front.

I knocked on the front door, sure that my brother was home. He'd not been around the castle and usually ate dinner at this time. Sure enough, the locks rattled and the door opened. "Edgar. The King pays a visit to the commoners. Come on in." I took him up on the hospitality.

The front door led into the living room, and to the left of that was the kitchen. I followed him there, where Marielle was busy at the stove preparing supper. "Greetings, Your Majesty." The priestess looked up from the pot of boiling soup.

"Pull up a chair, big bro." Sabin's hand rested on a cabinet door across from me. "Will you be joining us for dinner? I'll set you a place, if so."

"No thanks. I just ate. I'm here to ask you some questions."

"Oh, the King turns to his younger brother for wisdom and knowledge now." He smirked snidely, but I knew it was just his style of wit and humor. "Ask away." He sat down across from me at the round wooden table, a full place setting before him.

I was straight and direct. It was the best approach with a subject like this. "I want to know about the blitz art. How does it differ from magic? And how is it related to Ziegfried's techniques of," I tried recalling the gladiator's terms from my discussion with him "charging one's soul energy into their weapon."

Sabin's face lit up immediately. I thought he'd jump out of his chair, but he stayed put. "Soul energy!" he beamed. "I know that term."

"So there are similarities between you fighting styles." It was my turn to blurt out. "I'd been wondering about that."

"Drawn from a source inside of you, unlike those old esper stones you once collected." Marielle stepped over and took the empty bowl from Sabin's place.

"You also know about it?" I asked as the mystic pulled a soup ladle from a hutch drawer. Despite her tall athletic build, Marielle didn't have any combat experience, and had no interest in learning a style, from what I remembered. "Since when have you taken to the blitz?"

She laughed, filling the empty bowl. "I haven't, but spirit energy is not exclusive to fighting techniques. Don't forget, I'm a healer." She grabbed another bowl and filled it up.

"Of course." I laughed, happy to have not one but two experts on the subject in my company. "Well, that answers part of my question, what fuels the blitz moves. But still, how do you power them using this…internal spirit energy? I know yours are done differently than Ziegfried's. He 'channels' his energy into a weapon. You often didn't need one for your more ambitious techniques."

Marielle placed the two bowls on the table and headed off to a different corner of the kitchen. Sabin took a whiff from the steaming bowl. "Mmm. Smells good." He cleared his throat. "Why are you interested? Do you want lessons now?"

"Not quite. Ziegfried is teaching some new moves to the troops, as I'm sure you know. But I'm curious as to what he's teaching them. I barely know anything about these spirit-to-weapon fighting skills, save for their having no connection to espers or magic." Marielle returned with a bread basket. Though I'd filled myself with a hearty dinner at the castle, I gladly accepted one of the cornbread biscuits. "He referred me to you, since you're a teacher of the arts and styles in question."

"I can only discuss my arts. I don't know his." Sabin glanced at Marielle, who took a seat and uncorked a cider bottle. "As we've both implied, spirit energy is a very broad term. My blitzes are but one variety."

"And my healing techniques are another." Marielle poured a drink for herself, filling Sabin's glass afterward. "Inner soul energy has many offshoots and derivations. In fact, I'd say it's got more forms than your old magic."

As the unmarried couple began dining on their soup meals, I let this new revelation sink in. Sabin and Ziegfried were both unfamiliar with each other's skills and techniques, despite using a common root source. Aside from the basic steps, neither expert could tell me about the other's talents. "You know, maybe you should come to the army base and see the gladiator instruct my legions. Maybe then, you and he will gain knowledge of one another's specialties. It's the only way to really compare and contrast these differing arts of the same origin."

"Edgar, I always knew you'd make a better King than I. Thank you for proving my point once more." He bit off a chunk of cornbread. Crumbs decorated his smile of confidence.

It was settled. I thanked my brother and his love for their time, and let them indulge in Marielle's garlic and onion soup, reminding Sabin to use a few breath mints when he was done.

_change in s & n_

Reveal it slowly.

That was Maduin's suggestion for how I'd reveal my secret to Leonard. I had plans to make it a step-by-step process.

The first step had already been planned. Now came the task of actually doing it. Tracking down Leonard wasn't the easiest of activities, but I'd done it before, even if I went out of my way to locate the Narshean. We both lived in the industrial town but usually met up here in Figaro City.

But in spite of the distance and spent travel time, I knew Leonard could be found as he exited his workplace. I waited, watching the gates of the dairy farm complex. His shift concluded at this hour. There he was, in his typical leather jacket and olive green fatigue pants, complete with cow saliva stains.

I waved as he passed through the farm's gates. "Waiting for someone?"

He spotted me and approached. "That's more applicable to somebody else. And just who are you waiting for?" His voice wasn't serious at all.

"Oh you." Neither was mine. "Anyways, I'm glad we met. I've more knowledge for you."

"I'm all ears, Professor Branford. Teach me."

We both broke into snorts and chuckles at those words. Leonard could make himself laugh, and for someone who kept to himself for most of his life, he wasn't half bad at passing on that levity.

At last, we regained our composure. Leonard pointed toward the short cliffs that descended to Figaro City's beaches. "Why not some splendid scenery for this new lesson on…whatever."

"Of course." I followed him to the short stone wall at the cliff's edge, with the sandy beach not twenty feet below. Most of the beach-goers had pulled back from the water line, as the evening tide was coming in. Leonard watched the shoreline. He certainly had taste in settings.

I crossed my hands atop the short wall. The first step would begin now. "Leonard, I don't blame you for doubting the story from a thousand years ago, about the human queen and the esper knight who fell in love. Historical accounts of that time were largely destroyed, and legends resulted as a means to fill the gaps. But, there's another example of human-to-esper love, from a totally different source."

"Are you quoting another centuries-old reference?" He didn't sound convinced, but this reaction was expected. I'd been vague thus far.

"No. A more recent source, words from the espers themselves. Remember, we did collect a whole trove worth of esper magicite. That's what remained of them when they died. Before some of them perished, they described a romance between the two worlds."

Leonard's eyes focused on mine. He wasn't downplaying my story now. "Human and esper romance?"

"Yes, and it's far more recent than that one from the buried castle. In fact, it could've happened in your lifetime, though maybe not." Something that I'd not really considered was now verbalized. "How old are you exactly?"

Leonard's answer came without delays. "Twenty-four." So he was older than me by only two years. Maybe he'd been alive when my parents met one another, though he couldn't have been much older than a year and a half at most.

He didn't show any signs of disbelief. Maybe he was just going along with my flow. If he wasn't curious now, he'd be soon. I embellished the tale I'd learned from my first contact with Maduin. "This one esper was very specific when describing a young, orphaned peasant girl from the Albrook vicinity. She was fleeing the Imperial army when the seal between the two dimensions, placed when espers fled for sanctuary after the war, suddenly weakened. She found herself swept into the esper world."

"She met with the locals in that world." Leonard was following my story, taking words right out of my mouth.

I shifted my weight against the masonry wall. "As you could expect, most of the locals thought she was power-hungry, and this caution was in order, considering the fate espers experienced from humans a millennium prior. But one esper in particular saw light in this woman, and took her in, despite getting ostracized from his peers."

"Hmm." Leonard scratched his chin, his grayish blue eyes drifting slowly from one side to the other. He was definitely considering the tale's next twist. "And they had a child?"

"You guessed it," I commended his intuition. "Congrats for completing the story." I had taken the first step, and would end it right here, before mentioning that child's fate. I still hadn't mentioned myself, even though I'd been talking about myself through the whole story. A true-to-life romance between a human and an esper was enough for Leonard to swallow right now. If I piled on more details, he'd likely choke on surprise. The first step would have to go smoothly if I were to advance.

So far, that first step was going just as I'd wanted. "So it really was biologically possible for a human woman to carry a child of such intense magical power, without the unborn child's power killing her." Leonard made a statement, not a question, about the romance which crossed dimensional boundaries. "Physically possible, but hardly a normal practice." He stretched and looked off. The sky had darkened some while I'd been speaking, though the lighthouse to the southeast hadn't come to life yet. The rippling waves became more pronounced and reached further inward. "If a human-esper bond was forbidden in both lands, that child must've had one miserable childhood, filled mockery, ridicule, persecution, you name it."

_For all intents and purposes, she didn't have a childhood at all. It was taken from her, by a piece of headgear known as a slave crown. _The first step had been successful…and more. Now Leonard was referencing my own lack of a youthful past, though he clearly didn't even realize it. After all, he didn't know that I spoke of my parents and myself. I held nothing against him, but now that I'd accomplished my task, it was time for a change of discussion. "Sounds like you could relate, but I won't remind you of your childhood," I said, and added mentally, _Or my lack thereof._

With the sun going down, the last of the beach-goers were packing up and heading home, passing us after climbing the rock stairs leading down to the sand. A nearby lamp pole flickered on, causing a certain object to shine and jar my memory.

It was among the first things I'd noticed about Leonard, and one of the most consistent since. I took an interest when we had lunch at Ghearn's Coop, but our lunchtime chat about the espers' less violent side was the topic of that day. Now, having left that subject for the moment, I had the perfect reason to bring up this constant but subtle detail.

I pointed at it directly. "Leonard, now it's your turn to be the storyteller. Where did you get that pendant?"

"This?" He cupped the pendant in his right hand, tracing the double hex design with his thumb. "It's actually custom made."

I tilted my head to see the pendant from a different angle. "You mean you created that design yourself?"

His thumb stopped at the design's midpoint, and he released his grip. "Not quite. I saw the design in a book, and brought an image to a local silversmith up in Narshe."

"A book?" I repeated, very curious. "What kind of book?"

Leonard didn't answer immediately. He first glanced off at the lighthouse, its lamp flashing to life, illuminating the darkening sky with its rotating yellow beam. "A book of fables and legends, fictional obviously."

"Is that design some kind of lucky charm? You wear it almost every time I see you. It's got some obvious sentimental value." Why else would he wear it so frequently?

"Well, it…" He lifted the neck ornament between this thumb and index finger, then let it go. "I just…like the design."

"Really?" His answer didn't sound ambitious. I expected something more. "Maybe it's a good luck charm. You wore it when you passed out from the moth's poison, and I found you moments afterward. My presence on that mountain trail was a stroke of luck in your favor."

I tried understanding the pendant's high value, but my wild guess missed the mark. "Not because if this, if you're implying that much." Leonard pointed at the strange symbol. "In the said mythology book, this design wasn't used for bringing good fortune. It has no such meaning."

Than how come Leonard wore it so often? What value did it have? Admittedly, it was a nice piece of artwork, but aesthetics alone didn't explain why he wore it so often.

It didn't matter. I was just mildly curious about the icon. If Leonard adored the mystery design for looks and looks alone, he could wear it all he wanted. I too wore some of my jewelry for that same purpose.

Behind us, a train horn sounded. Our ride back to Narshe was approaching. "I guess you'll be heading back up to Narshe?" I pointed at the train tracks.

"I might not be going alone." Leonard spoke with deliberate intent, his voice more sure than when he described his necklace.

"No, you won't. This is commute hour." I smiled and laughed, already walking towards the boarding platform. Leonard naturally followed.

We showed our ride passes to the platform sentries and climbed the stairs up, just as the train in question pulled to a stop. As various passengers exited its door, we joined the entering crowd and took seats along the wall. Leonard leaned back, but I sat straight, thinking about our most recent conversation.

It was only a first step, but it was a real step. Leonard was convinced that humans and espers really brought up children together, rare as it was. Likely, he didn't think much else of it, since magic and espers were no longer in this dimension. But he believed me, and in time, I could take that next step.

_change in s & n_

"So they've finally built that new weapon." Ruqojjen folded his arms and observed one of the five-barreled orb cannons.

As we cleaned up the battlefield, the Captain ordered pieces of Tzen's new artillery be collected and brought back for analysis. Qaurjaeda happily ripped one such weapon from its parent armor. A dozen or so metallic projectiles were also gathered by our side. Tzen's new military invention was placed inside the aero-dome hangar, the ideal location since it was here where large machinery was examined and maintained.

"Yeah, and this weapon proved even more deadly than those photon cannons, despite its ammo being little more than spherical ten-pound paper weights." I grabbed my chest. In the days since the battle, my fractured ribs hadn't mended completely. "I took one in the boob, and my armored bra only kept the bones from breaking. Two of these orb shots even put a dent in Sdalsyra's face, as I'm sure you've heard." After the blood fest, Sdalsyra had only to drink the blood of dead enemies to heal her wounds. Since I wasn't a Pung Thoshidei, I relied more on conventional medicine and first aid.

Dried blood was smeared on two of the cannon barrels, life blood from our brothers and sisters in arms, splattered there as the metal ball shots cut them down. Having seen how just one shot could obliterate a person's entire skull, little was left to the imagination.

"Spring-operated, fed from an ammunition tube placed inside the mechanical upper arm, fires reusable ammunition." The High Shenthaxa detailed all the features of this formidable new addition to House Virnone's toolbox. His voice was stoic, even though his words spoke of the weapon's more impressive and dangerous features. "Now we've proof that Tzen is advancing. This weapon is likely a sign of things to come. Both their efforts and their weapons are becoming more ferocious." He looked at me. "Ajalni, you know what this means?"

I'd been thinking about it on some level, ever since we'd gathered up the losses from both sides and piled them into our land cruisers. "Tzen is pissed, or will be, when their brigade of 5'000 strong fails to report, let alone return."

The last time we spilt Tzenish blood, the targets had been some leftover squads, survivors from a narrow victory against Marandan troops. Those deaths could easily be blamed on retaliating Marandans. This was different. This wasn't a small-scale unit, but a full brigade which had recently won a decisive victory against Maranda. The surviving Marandans fled in one direction, while the Tzenish brigade went in another. We'd slaughtered that brigade, but we couldn't set up Maranda to take the fall.

This was a defeat that House Virnone would not forget. They'd double their efforts once again. They might actually ignore Maranda for a while, as the Duke's army had been subdued for the time being. House Virnone would stop at nothing to learn how its legion was killed. Maybe they were questioning if Sireck and Edrina's forces were responsible, or if some other entity had been involved. Either way, House Virnone's wrath would be upon us.

"Tzen won't be turning the other cheek anytime soon. More will come, with a lust for vengeance," I theorized. A little common sense goes a long way. "So what's your plan to counter such moves? Do we brace for an assault here, or go on the travelling offensive again?"

"Ajalni, If Tzen wants to learn who devoured that brigade, they won't launch another blatant offensive. They'll be less obvious, less direct. They'll try gathering info on just who attacked their forces." So he'd been thinking like I had. Or more accurately, I'd been thinking like him. As my 'surrogate uncle', he taught me a lot, often without even trying directly. Just spending time around him had its effects. I got more of an education from him and Yithadri than I had from Jrysthovuh's official schooling system. Schools only taught what the Council permitted, which wasn't very much.

"Stealth ops with spies." A woman's voice spelled out Tzen hypothetical plan. Yithadri joined us in the aero-dome's maintenance chamber. Though she still wore her typical bracelets, necklace, and headband, her ceremonial robes and sashes had been swapped out for more casual attire, a long-sleeved v-neck top and a pair of leather jeans, her 'everywoman' look.

The casually-dressed Nyufalng co-founder stood next to the founder, placing a hand on her hip, and hooking her thumb into a back pants pocket. Ruqojjen didn't notice, or more likely, he didn't care. Yithadri's gesture was nothing special now. At one time, it would've been a cue for something, and he'd have responded in kind. But this was now, not back then. Nothing remained of Ruqojjen and Yithadri's brief love affair. The couple knew that if they were to form and lead an organized movement, they'd need to focus on their leadership and minimize personal commitment. As the story went, they fornicated but once and laid the romance to rest, agreeing on a platonic, business-like partnership.

The two figureheads examined the sphere launcher some more. "There's a high chance that Tzen will try some espionage, hoping infiltrate our territory using spies passing themselves off as merchants or the like," said Yithadri, now with both hands on her hips. "When the Envoy came a few months back, they were simply curious about this region. Now, they'll be downright suspicious."

"It's just theorizing," I added, "but I've wondered about such a prospect as well. Tzen won't take this defeat lightly. It's safe to presume we've just forced their hand."

Ruqojjen looked closely at the dried blood streaks on the cannon, tracing his finger along the stain's edge. "As I've said before, we should never respect our enemies as beings, especially with a cause like House Virnone's. But with that said," his voice remained objective, but lost that stoic tone "we can't afford to mock them as functional combatants, especially now. This," he rapped his knuckles on a cannon barrel "is proof positive of why."

Yithadri echoed his statement with her own words. "That's always been true for us. Look at the Council. Even the lowest of sub-human shit can still be competent where it counts. Why have we been training in such ruthless, brutal practices all this time? Until enemies fuck up and prove their incompetence, they should not be underestimated."

"So the plan is to establish defense measures against Tzenish covert ops here?" I asked.

"Part of it, yes, but there's more than just local efforts here." Ruqojjen spread his hands out, referring to Albrook with his gestures. "There's another, more sophisticated part to be done elsewhere." I let him speak, despite knowing the basics of the plan. "To really find out what Tzen's up to, we'll have to get inside with pre-emptive covert tactics of our own."

"We've stepped on toes and spit in faces by killing off that brigade." Yithadri folded her hands. "We brewed a shit storm, something we're very good at," she said with a laugh. "With Maranda crippled from their recent loss, we have one major enemy at the moment. We need to gather intel on Tzen before Maranda regains its lost bearings."

Both Nyufalng bigwigs had the exact same point. Killing the elite brigade had been a full-on act of war against House Virnone. Backlash would be inevitable if we didn't take initiative and counter their efforts. "So we're officially campaigning against Tzen's House now." I shrugged and grinned. "We already put Albrook's house in a messy grave, so why delay Tzen's demise." I looked up at Ruqojjen, a natural act given his height over mine. "Who's going undercover?"

The man almost chuckled, but stifled it. "Ajalni, is the answer not obvious? Who's great at causing mischief while sneaking around?"

His expression said it all. He wasn't just looking at me. "Okay, but alone? I don't recall much on Tzen's layout. I'll have to meet with a local contact."

"Of course, and I've already got one in mind. But there's some worthy help right here too." Ruqojjen spoke of someone else, though his eyes were still fixed on me. "Who around here is from Tzen, as we recently found out?"

"Corporal Guellad," I answered, feeling doubt while mentioning his name.

Doubt must've filled my voice too. Yithadri put her hand on my shoulder. "What's wrong? You don't think the Corporal can pull it off? He pretty much rescued you in the Kavaryts Basin. You're the last person I'd expect to doubt him."

As I did with Ruqojjen, I looked up to meet Yithadri's gaze. The Shamaness was tall as well, taller then Sdalsyra, easily as tall as Baokiydu, and topped only by Dyal'xern and Ruqojjen. Standing straight next to the Honored Shamaness, there were still a couple inches between the top of my head and the bottom of her chin.

"I don't doubt his capability," I admitted "but I'm skeptical of his willingness for such an operation. He fled from slavery and a fate worse than death, a fate with its own humiliating death at the end. If he also fled from horrendous memories, I doubt he'd want to return."

"You've earned another medal in foresight," Ruqojjen acknowledged. "Your observation is no doubt perceptive. But realize this. If you know Ambrose, you know that he'll do whatever he must to further his cause, our cause." He spoke as if talking about an old friend, as he referred to the Corporal by name. "He'll willingly revisit Tzen if he knows it will make that difference. Last time he was there, he knew nothing about this movement. Now as member, he'll have a new arsenal both physical and mental to face his fears, if that's your concern."

The Shenthaxa's endorsement of the Corporal put my doubts to rest instantly. "Ruqojjen, you're right once again."

This time he did laugh, briefly. "I'm not called 'High Shenthaxa' Kagasjori for nothing. Unlike nobles, I've actually _earned_ my title."

Yithadri withdrew her hand. "Only two for the op? A small team is the only practical option for something covert like this, but the Corporal is only human at this time." Yithadri's eyes returned to my own. "I know you've got augmentations, but yours aren't the most potent, no offence."

"None taken."

"You and the Corporal will need someone with a higher class of abilities if you're going behind Tzenish lines," Yithadri reasoned. "Tzen's in a state of war now, and while they don't know about us, we're the ones whose blood they're truly after. This is a spy op that will likely involve spilling Tzenish blood. Someone with more powerful augments should accompany you."

Higher class of abilities. More powerful augments. Those words brought one association. "Pung Thoshidai," I named the highest of the Nyufalng, outclassed only by Ruqojjen and Yithadri themselves.

"First things first. We must develop a solid, concrete plan." Ruqojjen looked at something on his gauntlet. "It's getting close to dinner. Let's head back to the palace, find the others, and discuss our strategy over the meal."

The general tactic was already in place. I'd be doing some undercover spy stuff in Tzen. I was following in Morris's footsteps, but unlike him, I'd be raising some hell.

What was Morris doing by now anyway? We'd not heard from him in a while.

_change in s & n_

Locke and I lived in a modest condo in the town of Quildern, with the rugged Hyaxulan Mountains to the east and the flat Lucaissa Plains to the west. While Quildern was not a technology center like Narshe, it was situated in a far more versatile region. Just over the mountains to the east was Figaro City. The distance between our location and the capital was shorter than the distance between the capital and Narshe. Additionally, the train routes reached past our dwelling. We could go west through the Lucaissa Plains and arrive in Kohlingen.

The previous week, we'd done just that as a means to celebrate Setzer's thirty-first birthday. As the Falcon had been immobilized and neglected by the capital's maintenance crews, the next best option for the gambler to indulge his lifestyle was the Onham and Larhay Chocobo Derby, the twice-a-year chocobo race held in the semi-rural edges of Kohlingen. When we pitched the idea, Setzer almost exploded with excitement. He stayed with us in the days before the event, sleeping in our living room as our condo had only one bedroom. Despite his riches, the two of us paid for Setzer's admission, allowing him for 'more gambling money', in Locke's words.

The gambler thoroughly enjoyed himself, as was our primary intention, but the two of us also had our share of fun. The races attracted their own helping of traders and buyers all throughout Kohlingen. Though I wasn't curious on the details of Kohlingen's merchandise, Locke did some exploring, if only to compare Kohlingen's market supply and demand to local ones here in Quildern.

As it happened, he'd made some discovery while doing such, a discovery he'd brought up at least once per day since, and a discovery which I believed he was grossly overemphasizing.

Normally, our dinner table discussion related to our vending business, but this evening was different. Locke's choice of dinnertime conversation material was, by now, an unwelcome change.

"I don't understand." Locke stabbed his grilled lamb chop with his fork, less intent on eating and more focused on rambling.

"I don't understand this fixation," I said back. "You've been mentioning it every day since the derby, and now you're polluting our meal with it. Give it up."

A rotating carousel-type spice rack was on the table between us. Locke spun it around. Shakers of cloves, thymes, marjoram, and cinnamon passed on my side before Locke stopped the rack and grabbed a shaker tube of parsley. He sprinkled some onto his meat and cut out a slice. "I can't Celes. You know me."

I spread a tiny sliver of butter on my sliced potato. "Yes, I do. I know you're a smart person, and I know that we live in a world where magitek Empires and legendary espers no longer exist. We've been living in that world for three years, and counting." I glared at him a little. "Your obsessive behavior should've perished with Kefka. Move on."

"I just don't get it," he said before taking a drink from his mug. "Don't you find it a teensy bit odd?"

"I've no fucking idea what you're even talking about." I swallowed a forkful of potato and cut a piece from my own lamb chop. If I showed no interest in his babbling, maybe he'd at last get over it.

But Locke Cole was a tenacious man, for better or for worse. "Okay, maybe I'll explain it for you."

I laid my fork and knife down on my plate. If I heard the details of Locke's babble, maybe I could better call him out on its pointlessness. "Do that. Now I'm curious, what's so screwy with this…_thing_ you don't get?"

He took one more sip, set the mug down, and stared into my eyes with purpose. "Remember when we last saw Joe, in the capital? We were on our way to talk with Setzer, and the gem merchant was observing the construction zone of a plumbing add-on."

"Yeah. So?"

"And remember what he said? He used to live here in Quildern because it's more scenic, but sold his wares in Kohlingen, as it's more populated."

"So what?" I scoffed, taking a drink from my own cup. "So he lived in one city and worked in another. Lots of people do that. Leonard commutes from Narshe to work at the capital's farm, and Terra sometimes watches kids in Figaro City, despite also living in the mining town. Having distance between work and home is hardly abnormal." I tried putting him in his place. "If anything, you're abnormal for thinking of it in such terms."

Locke wasn't humored from my sarcasm. Not that I wished to entertain him at the moment, but he wasn't seeing stuff from my logical point of view. "I gathered some data while exploring the swap meats around the derby, and learned that precious stones aren't in high demand up in Kohlingen. Joe lived here, but peddled his products over there." He pointed to the northwest, towards Kohlingen. "He went out of his way to do mediocre business in town that's not really after his goods, despite its larger population. In fact, he could've easily made greater profits by staying here." Locke's index finger pointed downward. "Stones like his sell better here in Quildern. _That's_ what I find so odd. He lived here and knew nothing of the local demand for his supplies. How can such a fact go unnoticed by a local merchant?"

"Joe never said he was from here originally," I reasoned, cutting around my chop's bone. "As I recall, his hometown was lost in the great collapse, and he drifted around until winding up here. Not being a Quildernite native, details like the ones you mentioned would be lost on him. He could've presumed that Kohlingen was a better market because of its larger population." I swallowed, gripped my utensils, and stared Locke down. "Joe doesn't even live here any more. He lives in Figaro City, and he's making much greater profits there. Poor Joe's been through enough lately. He doesn't need to you degrading his intelligence like this. You sound excessively critical of him for some reason, and I thought you were beyond these one-track-mind fixations."

I waited for Locke to reply, but he went back to his meal without a word. I'd finally gotten through. At least, if he didn't share my logic, he'd stay quiet on the matter. The rest of our meal was spent in silence. Joe didn't need Locke calling him an ignorant moron, especially on a moot point relevant to the past, not the present. The treasure hunter had already breached Joe's privacy when asking about the merchant's ill friend. Joe forgave him, only because of Locke's good intentions when asking. The peddler lived elsewhere, so bringing up Quildern's gemstone market wouldn't have any real benefits. Joe probably didn't care at this point.

Hopefully, Locke would cease to care about Joe previous, outdated business ventures.

_change in s & n_

According to Ziegfried, some in the Figaro military already had weapon tricks up their sleeves, tricks that were comparable to some of his own. Again, this was an astounding revelation, but it was also vague. I had to see these tricks in question for myself.

The training room of the command center was packed. Troopers and officers had gathered to watch and learn, as had Cyan, my brother, and I. Finally, this was a chance to compare Sabin's blitzes to Zeigfried's weapon skills.

Rodney Hayne was up. The Staff Sergeant was demonstrating a weapon technique of his own, using his favored twin short swords. The target was a large burlap sack stuffed to the gills with desert sand.

"On your time, Hayne," instructed Ziegfried. Though he bore no uniform or military rank, he was given a privilege to issue directives during these training sessions, as he was the only one who knew the specifics.

Rodney eyed the sandbag before him. His fingers flexed repeatedly, inched from his swords' handles. At last, the matching blades were drawn with a single, synchronized ringing noise, both swords readied in one smooth motion. The weapons glinted at they reflected light from above. Or were Rodney's blades actually glowing with his transmitted soul energy? Swishing noises marked his cutting motions. First came the left blade. A high-pitched scraping noise announced the blade's contact with the overstuffed sandbag. Sand exploded from the incision as Rodney lifted his other sword. More sand filled the air following the right blade's cut. The top half of the sandbag didn't just fall, it _flew_ across the room, spinning at least four flips and spewing sand about like dust before landing at the feet of the nearest observing troops.

The on-looking soldiers cheered as Rodney raised both his swords proudly. The speed and strength he demonstrated when chopping through that sandbag were incredible. Using mere handheld weapons, the Staff Sergeant created force which rivaled that of an airship's propeller. The gleam of the sword blades vanished. That's when I understood, the gleam was no reflection of light, but a result of spirit energy.

Impressive as it was, Rodney's demo didn't wreak havoc like Ziegfried's Hyper-drive technique. Still, Rodney's move was quicker. I couldn't say which move was better.

Without saying a word, the champion of Dragon's Neck approached the lower half of the sandbag. His long sword was drawn. Rodney assumed an offensive stance. The two men squared off for a second, until Ziegfried said "Go." Both of Rodney's blades were pointed forward, and the Staff Sergeant rushed the gladiator. Ziegfried deflected the twin sword charge, parrying the two blades to the side. Rodney sidestepped, flowing with Ziegfried's motion instead of against it. This threw the arena champion off a little, but with a back step and a twist, the gladiator not regained his footing and spaced himself away from Rodney before the NCO could strike. The gladiator swung his long blade from side to side at waist level, a common keep-away tactic.

Rodney assessed the passes of the long sword, looking for the perfect moment to enter and disrupt the horizontal pattern. He chose the precise moment, rushing in with his shorter weapons, swinging his right sword down onto Ziegfried's piece while readying a thrust with the left. Ziegfried's reaction was to duck and sidestep, pulling his sword out from beneath Rodney's. The NCO's thrust motion carried him forward a step, but he quickly turned before Ziegfried stood up to full height. When they faced each other again, all three weapons were emitting that strange glow.

Rodney swung high in a wide cross from his right, and Ziegfried answered with an upwards parry. The two blades collided, and a small but ample bang rang out. A cloud of sparks burst from the intersecting weapons, a combo of friction and, if I presumed correct, clashing waves of channeled spirit energy.

Ziegfried remained on his feet, but Rodney was sent reeling. He landed on his right side with a thud. "And I lose again," he groaned, but smiled upon holding up his right hand. "Though at least I still got the blade in my hand, unlike last time."

The gladiator knelt down and offered his hand to Rodney, who sheathed his right sword and accepted the help. "Your technique is impressive, but your energy level has yet to withstand my own."

"Awe shucks," remarked the slightly disappoint Staff Sergeant once he'd gotten to his feet.

"1st Lieutenant Edderbricht," Ziegfried called out. As Rodney sheathed his other sword and rejoined the crowd of troops, Paul emerged carrying his favored melee weapon, a long-handled morning star with a long point on the top. The weapon had both swinging and thrusting options. He tossed his crude ponytail off his shoulder and held his long mace in a ready position. Paul and Ziegfried eyed one another, until the former nodded, prompting the latter to raise his long sword for an overhead strike. The long blade came down upon the pole mace's shaft with a loud metallic bang that resonated for a second afterward. Paul forced Ziegfried backwards.

The champion gladiator pointed his blade forward from chest height, parallel with the floor. The long sword's business end was glowing yet again.

Paul was less subtle in his movements. He spun the long mace vertically in front of himself. Though I could not make out its physical details, I could see an aura coming from the long morning star. Both men were 'charging' their weapons.

Ziegfried raised his weapon high and stepped up to Paul, whose mace was a blurry windmill of shapeless lights by this point. I assumed nothing, but waited for the weapons to collide once more. Finally, pole mace and long sword were brought against each other. The results were not fully unexpected, but there were still surprises to be found.

The noise was more spectacular. A sharp drawn-out crash like muted thunder burst from the two interlocked weapons. A brilliant ellipse of light flashed between them, its color flashing between white and vague hues of blue and yellow.

The elliptical blaze pulsed for a moment as the two men pushed against one another's melee arms. Then, both warriors were pushed away from each other, the blaze flaring out as like a transparent white bubble. The noise resembled a low rumbling wind, blended with an energetic humming. A sudden breeze hit my face, causing me to blink. Sand on the floor was blown about, and several observing troops uttered curses and exclamations of awe.

When the unnatural breeze died, the white energy bubble faded, and the noise stopped. Paul and Ziegfried faced off, weapons ready, sans that glow.

Had the flash, rumble, and wind current been a result of clashing, discharged spirit energy? It looked as if Ziegfried pulled another Hyper-drive, which Paul somehow blocked and deflected using a similar technique of his own.

Sabin's eyes lit up, and not from any channeled spirit energy. He leaned in close and whispered. "A force-field of sorts, much like my aurashield blitz." I gave him an acknowledging look but said nothing, my attention on the technique demo.

The champ of Olistes took a kneeling position and swung from his left. The Lieutenant countered with the balled end of the mace. This was simply a collision of weapons. No thunderous bang, no flash of light, and no artificial breeze followed this clash. But I did notice a small glint in the butt end of Paul's mace. The pummel end was smaller than the head end, lacking spikes to boot. Yet the 1st Lieutenant was able to spin the pole by the shaft and use the butt end for parrying. After repelling Ziegfried's blade, Paul spun his mace and delivered a second blow using the pummel tip. Another metallic bang, and Ziegfried's long sword went flying from his grip, clanking on the tile floor and skidding several feet away.

"Disarmed," said Paul in his usual voice, a gruff voice that sounded like he'd not spoken in years, or days, more likely. Paul wasn't much of a talker. Not that he was unfriendly. He just never spoke unless he had a reason to. He was much less outgoing than Rodney, and had more in common with Ziegfried in that regard.

"For the moment, I am," announced Ziegfried, "but only for the moment. Losing your grip on your piece is a very common issue, and as such, there is a means to deal with it." He reached for his long sword, a dozen feet beyond his grasp.

The blade quivered, as if another breeze was nudging it. Then, it slid along the floor, before lifting off the ground and returning to the gladiator's outstretched palm, almost retracing the path it took when Paul knocked it from Ziegfried's grip.

More cheers came from the present military staff. "Disarmed no more." Ziegfried faced the army personnel, bowing as though he'd just won a match in the coliseum's fight pit. He was getting a similar applause, on a smaller scale.

"Do you recognize that…weapon retrieval technique?" I asked my brother.

"No. I've never seen something like that before," Sabin answered, his eyes locked on the highly-talent gladiator before us.

As the cheering subsided, the collection of military troops began firing off questions faster than an auto-crossbow. I could barely decipher one question before the next cut it off.

"Ladies and gentleman." Cyan stepped next to the gladiator and raised his hands to shoulder level, palms down. "Calm yourselves. Have patience, and ask Sir Ziegfried your questions one by one."

Ziegfried gave the Doman a nod of thanks. As he'd already confessed, the arena's champion fighter was hardly a teacher. His greatest challenge thus far was not in the Dragon's Neck fight pit, but here in the military command center, dealing with excited military troops, each with his or her share of twenty questions. The overwhelmed Ziegfried turned to Cyan's teaching expertise to help him through.

Cyan was doing just that right now. "You first." He pointed to a female soldier in the crowd.

"Was that telekinesis, or something like it?" asked the young woman.

The gladiator reached out with his blade. "Not at all. You can't move just any object like that. It's all part of the spirit energy process. To move your weapon without physically touching it, you must first imbue it with spirit energy. Even then, once you're separated from the weapon, you can only move it towards yourself. There's no multidirectional use."

"So you can't direct missed arrows or rifle slugs using that technique?" asked another trooper.

"This technique doesn't work with most ranged weapons," stated Ziegfried while resting his long sword against his armored shoulder plate. "Because you don't actually touch the slugs or bolts when you're firing them, spirit energy cannot be channeled into said weaponry. However, this practice is commonplace for smaller throwing weapons, like discuses and boomerangs. Such weapons are often crafted for that very use."

The mention of boomerangs jarred my memory. Those curved throwing blades were among Locke's favorites. When he wasn't getting up close with small knives or magic-filled broadswords, the treasure hunter utilized long-range weapons like the wing edge boomerang and the full moon, a metallic hoop with spikes lining the outer edge. Every time he'd throw one, it would always return to his hand.

I quickly spoke up. "Our friend Locke Cole favored some of the weapons you just mentioned. Do these pieces grant the wielder ease in performing the technique?"

"They do make it easier to channel the spirit energy, yes. Some non-magical relics also grant or enhance fighting abilities." Ziegfried finished his reply before addressing another trooper.

Relics. Many of them were void of magic and still made life easier in ways worth noting. Some increased dexterity, others reaction time, and there were others that boosted the wearer's agility.

In a world without magic, new possibilities were coming to light, some of which I knew about already, others which I'd only discovered as of recent. Blitzes, relics, and various other techniques involving an individual's spirit energy would prove more than vital.

What you don't know about your own world is enough to be a whole different world in itself. The Empire and Kefka were literally becoming more outdated with each passing day.

"T'is time for a brief recess," declared Cyan. Ziegfried immediately departed the training room, quite eager to free himself from the army's growing list of twenty questions. One of the troops carried a broom and dustpan, cleaning up the spilled sand from Rodney's demo.

I thought about weapons and relics for a moment, until a woman called my name. "King Edgar, have you a minute?"

Deanne Sarholme stood next to me. The 2nd Lieutenant looked over her shoulder at the doorway to the main hall.

I smiled. "Yes. It's the perfect time, though I must be brief." Deanne pointed to the hallway outside, and I made my way past chattering soldiers to the door. In the hall stood Chancellor Pierre Gurdeaux and Minister Antonio Larsone. "Greetings gentlemen, what can I do for you?"

The look on Pierre's face was rather stale. "My liege, I've good news, and depressing news. Which first?"

My throat was dry. The answer should've rolled off my tongue, but I was hesitant. "What's the good news?"

Antonio exchanged a glance with Pierre. "The Reservoir Guild completed the most recent stretch of plumbing, and is ready to move on to the next."

"Fantastic." I swallowed, prepared for the hard part. "And the depressing news?"

The two men eyed one another, unsure of who'd give me the dreaded reply. It was the Minister who took a deep breath. "Well, as I'm sure you know, the construction zone is moving further into the more densely packed regions of town."

"Yes, that means progress." I stopped, unsure. "Or does it?"

"It's been moving thus far, King Edgar," said Pierre. "You're correct on that."

So why the depressing news? Was there some obstacle to the construction process?

Antonio held up a folder he'd been carrying. "Sire, I think it's best if you see the displays." The Treasury Minister flipped through the pages until he found a graph of sorts. He gave me the sheet in question.

I read the figures. "Yes, I'm well aware of the parts cost."

Antonio pulled another sheet from the folder. "You must also be aware if this."

I took the second paper. It was a map of Figaro City. The areas of plumbing completion had been outlined. I was seeing a pattern. "Is that it?"

"I'm afraid not." The Minister frowned, and pulled out one final sheet. This was a maintenance report.

I observed all three papers, the bill, the map, and the report. Now I realized why 'depressing' was Pierre's choice word.

The Chancellor met my gaze. "You know what this means, Your Highness?"

Did I really want to?

_change in s & n_

The trains which connected Narshe to Figaro's capital weren't just pieces of transit. They were also quite functional in the convenience department. The seats were cushioned, comfortable for the long rides I took between home and the capital frequently, with blitz lessons or farm work being the top destinations. While the elevated tracks offered descent views of the town, I'd often ignore the scenery and sink into my own internal thoughts.

The train had just entered Figaro City from the northeast district. I had quite a ways before my stop in the farms along the south, so it was time for some introspective thought on a particular subject, and particular someone.

I'd been thinking about Terra more and more, especially since we'd last spoken a few days back. Once again, she'd been waiting for me at the train stop near the farm, waiting to speak with me about stuff that, while not urgent, was of importance to her.

Our discussions were meaningful to that woman, for whatever reason. She felt compelled to inform me about the history of espers, beyond the popular hysteria which was only half of the truth. Why she wanted to offer me this insight remained unknown, but I could definitely say it changed my outlook. Until our first official meal together at Ghearn's Coop, I'd been just like my fellow Narsheans regarding my opinion on espers. They were vile, sadistic, and unstable alien beings that bore no redeeming qualities and had no place in this world. Yet through Terra, I was reassessed that viewpoint. She never said that espers were collectively an innocent breed, but her words revealed far more than the infamous lust for destruction which had long stereotyped the ancient beings. As she'd interacted with various ones in the past, I could take her words as genuine. Had someone else quoted her in the exact same words, I doubted they'd even be half as convincing.

In this post-magic world, such details were meaningless. Why even consider magic and its beings when they'd long faded from our dimension. Terra knew this, I was sure, but she still felt it was essential that I know what she'd learned some years back. Regardless of her motivations, I could not just shrug off her actions.

There was a strong chance that she was opening herself up to me by sharing her knowledge. She'd saved my life almost five months back, and that obviously meant something to her. Granted, after what she did with her friends, the mere act of saving one life would seem humble in comparison, but I presumed nothing. What she did for me was benevolent, no matter how it appeared on her scale. Even if I first believed otherwise, that I was simply just another person in her life, it was obvious that she saw me through any lens but.

If she was opening herself up, maybe she hoped that I'd eventually reciprocate and come out of my own closet. I'd already been forced out more than once. That chance encounter with the irate, resentful woman at the train stop revealed too much for comfort. Later, after the Shedairah search, I had another chance encounter with one of their local contacts, Narshean Senator Arvis Wexler. Being that she was a mutual friend between us, Terra broke down at this confrontation. The dubious acts of my father and his partners in crime were revealed against my choosing. Edgar had known on some level about them already, but the others present received a crash course in my family's history.

I had secrets, and Terra knew that much. She didn't know what they were exactly, but she undoubtedly wanted to. I couldn't blame her, and was actually glad she was curious in that compassionate manner. Still, my past was a touchy subject for me, even among the right people, the best people with whom I could share it.

But regardless of how I felt on my end, Terra felt compassionate on hers. She was more than curious about what had been fucking with me for all these years. In the days and weeks after meeting Terra's circle of friends, I'd bonded with more individuals than I had in so many previous years of my life combined. If there was one person who'd influenced my life the most in a positive way, it could only be Terra. She'd saved my life, and that was influential by itself. That she had this amazing group of friends almost seemed like a bonus, with long-lasting benefits. When I first learned of her impressive Returner status at the Starnisden clinic, I was almost beside myself with awe. I never thought I'd be meeting that ragtag band of stars and wonders personally, never mind having one play a substantial role in my life, such as preventing my untimely, unnatural death.

After that, I felt like a mite in the shadow of Sayitheren's greatest. There was no modesty. Not everyone can accomplish what Returners do, but I didn't think Terra would view me as anything special after all she and her friends had been through, and survived.

As of recent, I was seeing how wrong I'd been to assume that. Terra and her friends never saw me as below them, and I had no reason to act as if they were above me. Sure, they had fame and a track record that I did not and likely never would, but in all other aspects the Returners were treating me as an equal. In time, I was doing the same.

The new conclusion was inevitable, and obvious. Terra and I weren't as different as I'd first thought. She had a special place in my life, and knew it in full. There'd be a time to level with each other, because I was increasingly aware that I had some place of importance in her life. I'd have to decipher what that place truly was.

And I was beginning to wonder if her place in my life was more than just that of a heroine.

_change in s & n_

It had been a while, more then fours, since I'd last set foot in Tzen. Despite that lapse of time, I still remembered a few things about House Virnone's territory. Some of them remained unchanged.

Tzenish aesthetic design was strongly built around straight lines and cube forms. Even rounded objects were often decked out in straight line patterns, lines that could intersect at many angles. Groups of parallel lines would cross with other groups and singular line stretches. This simple design style was visible just about everywhere I could look. Every single feature of architecture was fashioned like this in some way, from building facades, to patterns in stone walkways, to signage. Fine arts like wallpaper designs and handicraft work also made use of straight line formations. Recently, curves were becoming more apparent. Squares and rectangles sometimes had rounded edges, as were visible in certain doorways, windows, and sign shapes.

Other aspects were very different than before. One of the changes was clearly recent. Tzen was under martial law now. Fighting with Maranda before losing that brigade to some foe that was unlikely Albrook (our wonderful Nyufalng selves), House Virnone was expectedly becoming hostile and paranoid. Every possible entrance to the Virnone domain was tightly patrolled, with garrisons and makeshift HQ's established in various towns, Tzen's namesake capital being the mostly tightly guarded. This made getting there quite inconvenient.

The first stretch of travel was easy. After packing our essentials and treating ourselves to a hearty breakfast, the three of us boarded a land cruisers and ride north. For two and a half hours we enjoyed the luxury of such transit. However, just before clearing the remains of the Logrius Mountains, we had to disembark the armored land car. We'd barely crossed over into Tzenish land by that point, and if the land car went any further, we'd have risked arousing suspicion. On foot, we trekked through the woodland hills, enjoying an improvised lunch of trail mix and mountain spring freshwater. Then we came to our first real piece of business.

At the northern end of the Logrius range was the Tzenish settlement of Rosseaund. It was now a garrison town, a checkpoint that was impossible to avoid for anyone coming from Albrook's direction. Even if one chose to bypass the town and head northwest for the Dimofres Mountains, various patrols were scouting for anyone doing exactly that. To keep from invoking suspicion, we headed for the secured garrison directly.

The armies of House Virnone had Rosseaund completely under their control. As we'd expected, guards questioned us before we could enter. We had a cover story which they bought, largely because it was realistic. We were a family of three, brother, sister, and father. We'd been captured by Marandan forces and were fleeing our captors, our mother killed and our father viscously injured in the process, hence the bandages that covered his face.

Our story could've been unique, but it was nothing special. Tens of thousands from Tzen's lower and middle class lived in meager settlements along the Dimofres's eastern edge. The retreating forces of Maranda had vindictively sacked and torched various towns, which had survived the great collapse only to suffer demise from the Duke's army. With so many refugees, the military set up various patrols to reel them all into the garrison of Rosseaund. House Virnone was eager to protect its subjects because it could (what else) exploit the commoners' desperation.

Once a major trading hub, Rosseaund now served as a crowded refugee camp. At least we fit in perfectly. A 'widower and his two children' were just three more faces amid thousands. Our point of interest was nearest train station. The railroad still functioned, though the trains hardly ran on time given the security measures of the newly enforced martial law. But we had no specified schedule to keep. Our contact in Tzen understood that getting to House Virnone's capital would take time, what with refugees crowding as they were.

Finding the train station was beyond simple. Getting to it was the real part. All that stood between us and the station was a few thousand more refugees. The lines for the train stop extended well past a mile beyond its gates, forming along one of the major boulevards. Foot traffic from intersecting roads had been diverted overhead, as construction scaffolds were used for making on-the-spot bridges. To keep the waiting line organized, the military set up razor wire fences on both sides. Motorized armor units were included in these crowd control elements.

After four hours, we boarded the train at last. Once inside, we were crammed like sardines. Seats were first come, first serve, but small favors can be found by those who know what to look for. None of us got seats, but we had a view through the window. We could see the woods and fields of the Tzenish countryside, and even some ruins of former towns. Tzen's conflict with Maranda had ravaged the former's inhabited regions for the most part. Rosseaund and the capital were still functioning, though not without strict government regulations.

An hour and half later, the train finally pulled into a depot outside of House Virnone's capital. Another crowed awaited us outside the train car. However, the lines flowed faster. This was the capital, not an outpost which connected Tzen to the unclaimed land in the continent's core. This was the heart and soul of House Virnone's military monolith, an echo of the Empire from four years ago.

Tzen was flanked by dull, fortified walls. They enclosed a great deal of this southeastern corner. In these walls were gates through which people could enter, once they'd been granted permission. Foot soldiers were in charge of searching people and admitting them. Mounted cavalry and walking armor units kept close eyes on those awaiting entry. It took less than one hour to get from the train's platform to the front of the entry line.

Once there, our foresight was rewarded yet again. Just as they'd patted us down in Rosseaund, soldiers here were also scanning our bags, pockets, even our shoes and socks. They'd all but strip searched us. After some search and fondling, they let us go to the next gate.

We passed the first gate because we lacked anything that would raise eyebrows. We carried no weapons and wore no armor beneath our coats. I still had my tongue, which I'd presently shaped into a normal looking body part, but my 'brother' had nothing aside from his raw brains and brawn. We'd have to remedy this lack of equipment before raising any hell.

Fortunately, our 'dad' wasn't questioned regarding his bandages. His raspy voice made his injury tale more credible. His skin tone was unlike that of a normal person, but the color wasn't so off that it would catch the eyes of troops and guardsman. With his face and hands covered in bandages like so, his visible flesh could be overlooked as blister wounds.

Finally, the second gate, and the last obstacle between ourselves and Tzen's capital. A pair of troops was on guard here. One man held a clipboard and a pencil, the other carried a small tray.

"Good evening, and welcome to Tzen." The man with the pad and paper greeted us in a voice that was machinelike and almost monotone. "And you are?"

Our bogus father stepped forward. "Gustav LeVard." He placed a hand on each of our shoulders. "My son Ben, and my daughter Vanessa." The guard scribbled our false names down.

The soldier with the small tray flipped it open. It was an ink pad. "Place your prints next to your names."

I glanced at my company, then at the paper list. The top sheet was almost full of names, all of which had thumb prints to the left. While revealing my prints the Tzenish military was hardly appealing, not doing so would blow our cover. Besides, there were thousands of names and prints on that list. The more we blended in, the more likely we'd be forgotten. I swallowed, pressed my right thumb upon the ink pad, and left my print next to my pseudonym. My bogus brother followed, and my 'father' went last. Did he even have prints at this point in his life? He obviously had something, and it satisfied the guards. They signaled others to open the gate, and we passed through. Welcome to Tzen.

This had been a first for me, the first time I'd been around a Tzenish soldier without trying to chop off the man's balls.

Tzen was large, just as I remembered it. With martial law and curfews in place, military presence was naturally at an all time high. Every street corner had a squad of armors watching for trouble, and these armors came outfitted with those goddamned metal sphere cannons. We distanced ourselves from them at the moment.

We strode through the city, freely moving about, no longer hemmed in by fellow passengers or lines of refugees. As we crossed a bridge over a creek, all passersby were far away. For now, we were beyond earshot. I leaned close to my 'brother' and whispered, "Feeling okay." I was still intent on keeping the good habit until we'd reached our destination.

Ambrose leaned back. "Of course. To bury the past, I'll make a difference in the present. Don't forget, my idea got us through that gate. Our tale was more convincing, thanks to my input." Our aliases hadn't been totally fabricated for the Corporal. LeVard was his mother's maiden name, and Ambrose was using the first name of his late brother. "I'll be fine." He didn't sound the least bit agitated or stressed. Just as Ruqojjen predicted, Ambrose had no qualms about coming here on a mission. A couple walked past us. Once they were gone, he whispered, "Where's this guy live again? Once I know, I can direct us to his place more easily."

"In the Gabier District," said Baokiydu, readjusting his disguise of bandages. His voice was gravelly, even with a hushed volume. "It's a bit north and considerably west of here."

We lacked a map, but since Ambrose knew Tzen by heart, he carried a map in his head, and guided us to the nearest carriage outpost. It was dark by the time we'd walked those ten blocks and flagged down a passing coach. Lights were coming on all around, in windows, lamp poles, building signs, even on the units of patrol armors.

Another issue we'd dealt with in advance; money. Real Tzenish refugees wouldn't pay with currency from Albrook. The dead soldiers from that brigade solved that problem for us. They had thousands in Tzenish currency on their persons. We'd kept the money for potential use later on. It came in handy much sooner than expected.

Ambrose paid the carriage driver with the smallest money denominations we had, as using the larger ones and asking for change would certainly expose our low profile. Peasants didn't carry that much money. We climbed in and took seats. I could finally sit for the first time since departing the armored land rover just before noon.

Since Ambrose knew our destination, he directed the coach driver through various shortcuts. The man was happy to oblige, since major intersections were patrolled by military staff directing the heavy flows of traffic.

Soon, we came near our choice destination. However, instead of departing right there, Ambrose instructed the carriage master to stop just around the corner. "Here? Okay. Just know the inns are pretty much booked for time being," said the driver. "There are no shelters close by in this district either."

"We're good." Baokiydu opened the carriage door and stepped out, followed by the Corporal and myself.

The driver tipped his hat. "If you say so. Thanks for telling me about those short cuts. It beats going through search and seizure every cross street. But oh well, these soldiers are at least guarding the town and keeping us safe, so a substantial loss of freedom is worth the price of guaranteed security." The man frowned, hints of disbelief clouding his voice.

Our trio exchanged glances. _Security is a ruse, mister. Giving up your freedom will not make you safe. Your guardians will use and abuse you. _The other twos' thoughts likely mirrored mine, judging by their facial expressions.

The driver turned and rode off, probably heading back to the coach depot. The street was largely empty at this hour. Curfew was setting in. Only soldiers and a few privileged upper class would be permitted outside once this hour had passed. More armor units and mounted chocobos were stationed at the end of the street, gearing up for the pending nightly lockdown. "Jim's around the corner." I gestured to the southwest. "Not one block away."

Minutes later, we arrived before the two story house. Not much had changed since I'd seen it last. Lights on the roofed porch revealed the color schematic remained the same, pale blue stucco with dark blue trim. A new sapling grew from the lawn. To the left of the front porch was a window. A light shined through the drawn curtains.

"Nice place," remarked Ambrose in less of a whisper. His words betrayed nothing of our purpose.

"Inside should be impressive too, if it's unchanged," I said.

Atop the three porch steps, I pressed the doorbell. A single note rang at differing octaves from inside. The front hardwood door opened behind the wireframe screen. "Yes?" asked the unshaven man beyond.

Baokiydu did the honors. "Zranjihd, Maing Canavielle." Speaking Jyrsthovuhn was the perfect way to clarify our true selves to the man before us. I doubted anyone in Tzen besides us four could understand it, save for our other contacts.

Ambrose and I looked around, just to be sure no soldiers were eyeing us. When we'd ascertained that none were observing, I asked. "Shall we?"

The man unlatched the screen door and swung it outwards. "Come in."

Jim Canavielle was our mole in town, not the only one, but he did have access to some of the more valuable information we could dig up on Tzen's activity. He was a munitions engineer who worked in the factories, which had now been seized by Tzen's army. Jim was in charge of maintenance, and inspected factory machines regularly to keep them in working order. It was through him we'd first heard rumors of the artillery sphere cannons.

Because of his position in the military-controlled manufacturing plants, Jim had regular contact with House Virnone's top brass, and knew about various goings on which were unknown to the general public. Though it wasn't spoken around him, he was able to listen in when troops thought no prying ears were nearby. This talent, combined with his position in the factories where military tech was built, made him an ideal mole.

And this all came before his augmentation.

Once Jim closed and locked the front door, we let loose, no longer speaking in whispers and using pseudonyms. Baokiydu removed his full disguise of long coat, fedora hat, and bandages.

"Welcome." Jim took our coats and placed them in a front hall closet. "I'm sure you're tired. When did you leave?"

"This morning," I answered. "We had breakfast and packed just after nine, and left Albrook shortly after. We took a lunch break in the woodland south of Rosseaund, where it took four hours to board a train for here."

"All things considered, you made remarkable progress in that time," Jim acknowledged. "I heard stories of people who've been waiting outside the town walls for nearly half a day. The entry lines must be flowing quicker now." He glanced at his wristwatch. "Had you been delayed any more, you would've been denied entry until morning. I'm sure you know about the curfews. They start at twenty-two hundred hours sharp every night." A small radio transmission had been exchanged between Jim and Ruqojjen, after we'd established plans to infiltrate House Virnone's HQ. Our mole of a mechanic explained the various new laws enacted after the brigade was accurately presumed KIA, such as curfews, checkpoints, and authorized search and seizures. "I'll take an estimated guess and presume you're hungry. I saved some dinner, should that be the case." Jim pointed to his kitchen.

"Starving," I declared. Thinking along such lines was a reminder of something else. I clutched at my groin. "And my bladder's going to burst soon. Is the bathroom still down the hall?"

"Your memory serves you well." Jim pointed to his first floor lavatory. "You know the way. I'll start the food." Ambrose and Baokiydu followed him to the kitchen while I headed for the back of the house to relieve myself.

I joined the others upon finishing. Jim was at the stove, while my two companions were seated. One thing I remembered that was still here, the kitchen floor's tile design. It was made from squared tiles of three different colors, an orchid color that mixed red with magenta, a deep yellow akin to butterscotch candies, and a dark blue that first appeared as black until closer examination. Tiles of all three colors were speckled with white, as if someone had dripped wet plaster along each of them. Diverse color coordinating balanced out the line-based aesthetic.

"I didn't think I'd be entertaining a Pung Thoshidei in my own home," Jim remarked. "And how are you, Miss Ajalni, the sweet girl with, excuse the expression, a nasty tongue?"

I pulled out a chair and took a seat. "I'm relieved, if that's what you're wondering."

"Funny," he stated while opening a cabinet next to the oven. He pulled out three dinner plates shaped like octagons, a typical shape used in Tzenish flatware. He placed ones before Baokiydu, me, and Ambrose. "I'm pleased to meet another countryman in arms, Corporal Guelled." He and Jim made formal introductions while I'd been taking that leak. They hadn't known each other until this evening, despite them both being Tzenish nationals.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, and to be here," Ambrose returned. "But while it's common ground for the two of us, country is not the most sanctified entity, even if I claim pride in my Tzenish blood."

Jim lifted the drawn curtains and peeked out the kitchen window. While curfew had yet to initiate, I could hear the distant thumps of mechanical feet outside. Night watch patrols were getting ready. "Many people here take pride in sharing culture with House Virnone," muttered Jim while peeking through the curtains. "I'm one of the few who believes House Virnone brings shame to the Tzenish people."

We all understood Jim's mindset. There was no need to elaborate. As our host laid out napkins and utensils, Baokiydu got down to business. "What's it been like here, since the brigade fell?"

Jim opened another cabinet and fetched three dinking glasses. "The House almost blew an artery. The whole military was furious too, but their own feelings were secondary once riots among the lower class became a concern. A _very_ popular Brigadier General was in that brigade, and his death nearly drove the people insane."

Baokiydu scoffed. "Ah, a General. I knew the Dragoon Knight whom Dyal'xern cut in half with that compressed air wave had some special value to the troops. After seeing the Dragoon get chopped up, the nearby grunts went mad and just charged with no regard for tactics or formation. I was a bit surprised, but we still cleaned house. I never would've considered that Dragoon anything spectacular. All those blind-sided patriots are the same to me."

Yithadri had been right. We did brew a shit storm when slaughtering that brigade. But one part of Jim's answer was confusing. "Riots among the commoners?" I asked.

Jim carried a pitcher of apple juice to the table, placing it in the center between us. "I know this may sound odd and disheartening, but unquestioning patriotism doesn't stop with nobles and soldiers. Plenty of middle class men and women here also believe House Virnone is the be-all, end-all of existence. At first, I believed people spoke like that simply to earn approval, but with time I realized such praise was genuine. A whole legion of new recruits joined the army once martial law had been established, youths eager to serve the 'almighty' House once extra military openings became available."

I sulked. "And here I thought we could rally the lower class to our cause by showing them alternatives to House nobility. Now I realize they actually _like_ tyranny. Great. More ignorance to clean up."

Our late dinner was ready. Jim filled our plates with stewed rabbit, topped with thinly sliced mushrooms. I almost gobbled down my share, I was that hungry. Ambrose ate more casually, as did Baokiydu, for whom Jim had a question. "Care to feed your essence too?"

The Sensorian licked his chops. "It would help, but have you anything to accomplish such."

"Do I ever." Jim strode over to his ice box. "Once I heard that a Pung Thoshidei was heading for my pad, I figured it wise to prepare accordingly for such a guest." I could hear various objects being shifted around past the open ice box door. "I've heard a saying about Tzenish troops have lots of heart. Well, even though House Virnone's armies are void of brains and common sense, I won't argue against that statement. I _know_ it's true."

The machinist closed the ice chest door, and I immediately understood him. In his hand was a glass bowl filled with ice cubes. Resting on the ice were two bloodied human hearts. "Got these from a couple of quarreling armor pilots in the factory. I tossed the bodies into a piston machine to make it look like an accident." He smiled, revealing his augmentation. Baokiydu gladly took one of the hearts and squeezed blood onto his meal.

After this late supper, there was no reason to stay up. I was tired from the full day of travel, and there was nothing we could accomplish in the city until morning. Curfew was in effect. The motorized stomps of patrol armors sounded with regularity every few minutes. Jim had two available guest rooms, and Baokiydu insisted on getting one for himself. Ambrose offered the remaining room to me, content with sleeping on the den's couch, but I was more than willing to share a room with the Corporal. For some reason, I was viewing him as more than just a comrade in arms.

I switched off the desk lamp and let myself to drift into thoughts. The metallic stomping of armor legs out in the streets was loud, but manageable. My last thoughts were of Baokiydu drenching blood onto his food at the dinner table, blood from a dead House Virnone lackey. Hopefully, more Tzenish blood spills would follow. We'd come to fuck with Tzen's military efforts after all.

I rolled over, shut my eyes, and pursued that thought before drifting into sleep.


	22. Ambitions Unfold

**Chapter 22: Ambitions Unfold**

Until Terra and I agreed on a mutual place to meet within Narshe, we'd be tracking each other down here in the capital. We'd have to select a place within my hometown, familiar to us both. She lived in the Haggleston District, but I had little familiarity with that part of town, and I had yet to reveal which neighborhood was mine. It was nowhere close to Haggleston. Fortunately, we both had business in Figaro City, so our paths would cross, with a little extra effort.

I approached the dojo. The open doors were shut but unlocked. Sabin was inside, and maybe with Terra. Relm sat upon the floor, sketchpad in hand, dog at her side, curled up and asleep…until I walked not five paces through the door. His eyes snapped open, and his snout pointed at me like a finger, a finger with drool-spattered sharp teeth. He growled, pulling his lip back to reveal his chompers.

"Interceptor! No!" At Relm's command, the brown and black canine ceased his growl and shut his lips. His eyes though, were still trained upon me. The teenage girl set her sketch tools down and stroked her canine companion. "No. Leonard's not a bad man, don't glare at him like such." The dog whimpered once before laying his head back down. She stroked the dog under the chin, an act only she could accomplish…without losing hand flesh. "So, what brings you here? Wait, let me guess." She eyed me, just as Interceptor had minutes earlier, though with much different intentions. "You're looking for Terra, right?"

I didn't hold back. "That's right."

"I knew it." She pumped her arms in the air. "You like her, admit it."

"Yeah, well…so do you, for longer than I've even known her."

Relm's jaw dropped. "Oh…yeah…right." She chuckled a bit in the most girly fashion possible. "She's in the outside training yard with Sabin. I wouldn't disturb the lesson, but it'll be over shortly. Why not have a seat." She patted the cushioned bench behind her. I accepted the offer, placing the girl between myself and the temperamental canine.

"So, will you pitch the idea of a second date?" Relm asked between pencil strokes.

It occurred to me that I'd not seen Relm in awhile. She knew nothing of the meetings where I learned about espers and their forgotten, buried history. Neither Terra nor Sabin had informed the teen of our subsequent meetings after the lunch at Ghearn's Coop. "I've actually had one, maybe two, since the first." That stroll in the nearby park was my idea, and Terra sought me out at the train station by the farm shortly afterward.

Relm's jaw dropped, as did the pencil from her hand. "You mean, you've had new dates and you never told me?" Her eyes drooped, much like the corners of her mouth. The young girl's voice sounded both disappointed and furious at once.

"Must you be informed on every detail of our personal lives as they unfold?" I teased, giving Relm something to chew on.

"Umm…no. I guess not." She picked up the fallen pencil and resumed her line work. "Spying is done to enemies, not friends." Relm delivered a witty comeback, as only she could do.

The doors to the dojo's yard opened, and Terra emerged in her loose pants and sleeveless top, with Sabin and Gau doing some exercise behind her. As she grabbed her bag and sweater from one of the rounded tables, I stood and walked over. "You've been searching me out, so I'm just returning the favor."

Terra smile back. "Aw, and I suppose Relm's presence has nothing to do with yours?"

"I was here long before him," the teen said. "I assure you, I didn't expect Leonard to visit." There was a moment's pause. "What? Did you think I'd blackmail or extort Leonard into meeting you here?"

My turn for a comeback line. "I wouldn't mind if you did. Maybe I could use a little motivation. That's what friends are for, right?"

I resisted the urge to laugh myself shitless at my own line, but Relm gave in immediately. She howled and snorted until her cheeks were flushed. Terra chucked lightly, a very subtle laugh compared to Relm's.

As the laughing teenager calmed down and regained her sanity, I addressed the green-haired woman. "Got a moment, or two?"

"Not much. I've a sitting job waiting in town, and don't wish to be late." She headed outside, eyeing me to follow, which just so happened to be upon my agenda. "I have a few minutes though."

We left Relm, Gau, and Sabin to themselves inside. I wanted no third parties around for our short exchange, and Terra likely felt the same. The dojo's front steps were hardly private, but the two of us were alone, if momentarily.

Terra mentioned her schedule to keep, so I wasted no time in verbalizing my recent thoughts. "You know, I've been thinking about these discussions we've had as of late." Her deep green eyes were attentive. "For whatever reasons you have, it's important to you that I be educated on esper history. You care enough to pass along the information, even though it's irrelevant to this present day, magic-less world."

"Really? So I've made an impression after all?" Terra smiled vaguely, but her expression grew more pronounced after a moment.

"Absolutely. And I don't think I've shown how grateful I am." Terra glanced at her bracelet watch. There wasn't much time to spare. "So now here's my official 'thank you'."

Her eyes twinkled with excitement. The southbound train would approach any minute. Bearing that in mind, I offered Terra a palm-up gesture.

She slowly lifted her hand, stepping towards me. This was it, we could finally move beyond the no-touching stage of our acquaintanceship. Her own hand reached forward, her long fingers ready to interlock with mine. Just a few inches separated us from building that bridge of contact, and not just of the physical variety. She bent her fingers, only two more inches and…

"There you are Leonard. I wondered if you'd be here."

Something died before it was even born. I didn't know what it was, never mind what it could've become. But it was dead, and couldn't be recreated instantly. Terra's face was no longer an expression curious excitement. Her lips sagged and she blinked. Her arm fell limp to her side, away from my own.

Someone had ruined the private mood without trying. He was just looking for me, and innocently appeared at the worst possible moment. Crestfallen, I looked up to see who'd just crashed the party.

"My guess was dead on accurate." Joe prided himself, beaming with the exact kind of energy he'd accidentally diffused from both of us. "I…hope I'm not intruding on anything." He reached behind his neck, possibly aware of causing apprehension.

It was coincidental. I couldn't fault Joe for anything. He presumed I'd be here, and since I'd chosen to stop by, he was accurate because of me. I laughed and softened everything up. "No, not at all. You disturbed nothing." That was the truth. There was nothing to disturb. Joe's sudden presence halted any potential development.

Terra had also recoiled. "Good day Joe. What prompts you to search for Leonard?" She pointed at me. "You're quite popular."

I'd made the connection, though Joe probably missed it, oblivious that Terra had sought me out in a similar manner elsewhere. He climbed the steps and joined us. "I'm just curious to see more of Narshe." I received a pat on the back. "And who better to continue the tour than my own personal docent."

"You're still a 'tour guide'? I thought that was only a joke," Terra giggled.

"Not entirely," Joe spoke up. "Leonard's given me some great tours of Narshean districts. The most recent spot of interest was the Rasnayffe Neighborhood."

"Did you happen to show him my neighborhood?" Terra asked.

"Wha…?" Joe pointed at each of us. "You _both_ live in Narshe?"

"Yeah, and oddly enough, we've never met up in the town." I looked at Terra. "I know you live in the Haggleston District, but I'm not familiar with that neighborhood. We really should pick more local spots between us. The moogle caves are too far removed from both our pads."

"Well, yes…I'll consider some places more centralized in Narshe…but not now. I must be off. See you both." The green-haired woman sprinted off the dojo steps and across the street, en route for the nearby train station.

I watched her, until she vanished beyond a street corner. "So, you'd like to see more of Narshe?"

The merchant nodded. "Obviously, but later. I start my shift in thirty minutes. Maybe I'll stay a while and watch the training." Joe pointed through the dojo entrance.

"Whatever floats your boat." I wasn't too concerned with Joe's choice activity right now. How to meet Terra in Narshe was my major interest.

"Right, so…I work a full shift tomorrow, but only mornings for the two days afterward," Joe announced. "One of those days should work for the next leg of the Narshe tour…assuming you're free then."

Not completely focused on a meet with Terra, I answered him. "I'll be around one of those days. This time, I'll seek you out in the castle's commerce hall. Since I pass it on my way home, there's no point in going out of your way to the farm."

"Fair enough. I'll look for you after tomorrow. Take care." Joe waved and walked inside, leaving me to myself. With him gone, I could resume my previous thoughts, finding a place in Narshe where Terra and I could get together…void of interruptions.

_change in s & n_

I took a deep breath and paused, before asking Charise, "Did I…do the right thing?"

Standing to my right, she took my hand. "You really had no other choice dear. This has to get done, and only with your authorization was it able to carry on." She pointed at the scene before us. "Because of you, it's gotten to this point. You have yourself to thank for the most recent progress."

I couldn't downplay my wife's optimism. Her cheery outlook was why she married me in the first place, against her own family's objections. But even her radiant smile and piercing teal eyes couldn't lift the fog of doubt and dread from my spirits.

I squeezed her hand and looked past the cyclone fence enclosing the latest construction area. Yes, the job was moving along and I could attribute such advancement to myself. But that advancement came with another high price.

The charts provided to me by Chancellor Gurdeaux and Treasury Minister Larsone more than spelled out the pattern. As the construction advanced further into this town, the cost of digging labor noticeably increased. Soft desert sand was but a superficial crust layer in this town's natural terrain. Dry dirt, much harder than the top sand, comprised the lower layers in most regions. Likewise, the number of larger business increased as one moved away from the coastline. All this in mind, larger and deeper holes were the only option for laying improved pipelines into the more densely populated districts of town. That by itself was pricey enough, but in many areas, the only option was to dig up paved streets, and repaving the roads only increased the high cost of labor.

As fate's latest turn would have it, labor wasn't the only thing with a massive bill. After scanning Antonio's maintenance report, it was all too obvious that tools and hardware needed attention of their own. Everything from basic picks to motorized drills to mechanical digging claws built from ex-magitek units required a tune-up at the least. In other cases, certain tools and machines needed their digging tips upgraded completely. This meant replacing the dulled metal spikes with stronger ones made from industrial-grade diamond. Diamond cost a pretty penny by itself.

There was only one option, something I'd done already on a smaller scale.

I increased the taxation.

The claws of a construction walker unit reached down into a hole, pulling out scoopfuls of dirt. It was like some ominous metaphor echoing my actions. The claw was scooping dirt from the ground, as I felt I was scooping currency from the average taxpayer's savings.

Charise noticed my apprehension. "Edgar, I fully understand your uncertainty. It's only natural that you'd second guess yourself after raising this tax once more. You just have see beyond the present. You're taxing the citizens heavily. I won't deny that. But why are you doing it? So they can get water. You're doing it for them. Things often get worse before they get better."

Normally, my dreary mood would be lifted instantly with such praise and confidence from my beloved wife. But this time, I wasn't so quick to smile, and that disturbed me. "How much worse, and how much better will they get after that?" I asked. "It's gotten worse just recently."

Charise thought hard for a moment. "Look at it this way." She let go of my hand and circled her arm around my waist. "You're no longer plotting the downfall of an imperialistic super-power, nor are you fighting magic with magic to stop a degenerate psychopath. You're managing this capital and its utilities, which didn't exist until Palazzo's death. Time marches on, and you along with it."

It was a worthy effort to change my mood, but Charise had only mentioned past troubles. A more recent issue was beyond this city and its looming water shortage. "Yes, I move along with the flow of time. And the smart monsters are keeping pace."

"Is that what's got you down?" she questioned.

"It's not making this taxation any easier," I said. "You know, I can only speculate if there's a connection between evolved monsters and this potential drought."

"Connection? Such as…what? Are the monsters taking our drinking water?"

"I don't know. I can't say for certain what connection there could be, if there even is one. But I've not ruled it out." Theorizing about monsters helped me recall the devised countermeasures. "But with Ziegfried's weaponry techniques, it's just a matter of time before we show these anomalous creatures who belongs on top. And the techs in the weapons division are almost finished upgrading that lightning cannon, so I've heard. Maybe then, we can take those abominations off the map and get on with this plumbing work."

"You know," Charise leaned close. "Maybe you could use the smart beasts as cheap laborers. They're not people so you need not pay them for work." She laughed sincerely.

I should have joined her in humor, but I stared her down, until her smile faded. "Oh…I apologize. No more jokes. You are serious." I felt bad rejecting Charise's noble stabs at humor, especially given her intentions. But with mixed feelings on this grueling necessity of plumbing labor and the newly-raised tax to fund it, my mind was on business only.

As the construction walker dug deeper, a few workers beyond it were using loud, rattling jackhammers to split the road pavement. This work was essential to the function of my capital, and only I could sanction it. To see it through, the tax increase was the cost, a literal one for those paying. I put my arm around Charise's shoulder and kept a neutral composure. I was the King of Figaro. Feeling weakness was bad enough. Overtly showing it was unacceptable, especially now. What would the townspeople think if they observed me doubting the very measures I'd imposed?

No, I couldn't even feel weakness, or it would eventually show through. This was done for my people, whose livelihood, and very lives, were in my hands. This was for them, not for myself. I could shoulder the burdensome duties of taxing them for their best interests. I _had_ to. The matter of could-or-could-not had no place in the equation. This was all for my subjects' own good. With that in mind, I had no reason to feel any…

…doubt…fear…

Guilt…

_change in s & n_

Our first day in Tzen wasn't exactly productive. Aside from sending a brief transmission to Albrook, informing Ruqojjen and Yithadri we'd arrived at Jim's, little else of substance came about. We mostly read over newspaper headlines and magazine articles Jim gathered before we arrived. They were useful as general reference points, but we took their contents with less than a grain of salt. House Virnone controlled the press, especially now during martial law. Easily half the truth was omitted from the articles, replaced with complete fabrications. Discerning truths from hoaxes was anything but simple. We'd have to explore Tzen's key points for ourselves, get 'inside' somehow.

Jim was out, working in the factory, gathering what intel he could while putting up a front of compliance. He'd left enough food regarding breakfast and lunch. He'd also gathered some local maps and guidebooks. However, those proved largely unnecessary. Ambrose had Tzen practically memorized.

We sat in Jim's first-floor den around the coffee table, open magazines and newspapers scattered before us. Jim had saved almost a week's worth of daily chronicles. Despite such volume, the useful information we found in the collective newspapers wouldn't even fill one day's worth.

Baokiydu folded up his paper wad and placed it on the varnished coffee table. "It's almost the same fucking shit over and over again," he griped. "It's hardly news when it's not new."

"The House keeps its people in the dark on so much," Ambrose said while thumbing through a page from three days back. "But, we need to begin somewhere, somehow."

Presently, our most practical starting point was to simply explore the town and gather information from locals. We didn't even have weapons or similar gear. Attaining such would be a task in of itself. Before his departure, Jim informed us that all weapon and tool shops throughout the city had been seized by the Tzenish military, another practice of martial law. Even non-military objects like hacksaws, meat cleavers, and jugs of kerosene were closely guarded, and their prices had tripled at the very least. Military personnel not only guarded the doorways to said shops, they even took the roles of shopkeepers, forcing the real merchants into sideline duties.

This seizure of specified storefronts was officially to keep weapons of any kind out of the wrong hands. Of course, we saw the truth. This practice put a dent in local business profits, with the military claiming sums that would otherwise belong to the owners. Another means of keeping the population sedated and tranquil under the pretext of 'public safety'.

We said nothing for several minutes. The only sound in the room was the ticking pendulum of Jim's grandfather clock. Ambrose grabbed a geography atlas from under the tabletop, a mundane reading activity to pass time, I presumed. I glanced at Baokiydu, not sure if his restlessness would get the better of him in the moment. Yes, we were on a mission, but our actions were delayed against our choosing.

I had faith in his patience, and it was rewarded. "Let's wait for Jim to get back. Maybe he's learned something juicy." So he was thinking with his mind and not his temper, just as I'd hoped. He reclined in the easy chair, relaxing.

The rest of the afternoon passed by quickly, with a nap or two. Around half-past-five, the doorbell rang three times. That was Jim's ring. Our inside man carried some grocery bags. He stopped on the way home to get dinner.

With doors locked, windows latched, and curtains drawn, we began our discussion, chatting over bagels, smoked salmon, and diced carrots. Knowing we had questions, Jim gave us what answers he'd learned over the course of his work day. "You're in luck, to some extent. The factories need a shitload of new workers to feed the military's demands." He poured us each a glass of cola from a black pitcher. "I said I may know some people interested in the job, some old colleagues looking for work."

"And who might they be?" Baokiydu smirked, and dug into his fish slab.

Jim shrugged in sarcasm. "I wonder. Anyways, at least one of you might be able to find work in the plant. I offered to introduce said colleagues to my supervisors, and they're all for it."

I swallowed a mouth full of salted carrot chunks. "Well, I'm disqualified from that opportunity, based on my gender. Woman can't work in factories. We're supposed to stay in the kitchen and be judged solely on our child-bearing capabilities." I chewed off a bagel bite. "Fucking patriarchal pricks."

"Mostly, but not quite at this time." Jim sprinkled salt on his fish and took a bite. "Lady General Janice Vellanois has taken command in the wake of Brigadier General Aelchass's death. He was the popular commander who led that brigade."

Lady General? We all made faces of surprise. Ambrose voiced confusion that spoke for all of us. "I thought House Virnone's armed forces policy was males only. This has to be a first."

Jim nodded. "Indeed, this is a first in the House's history. Janice Vellanois is from a long line of decorated military servants. Years back, when House Virnone was getting ready to betray the ruling House of Tzen, her only brother perished fighting with the armies of Tzen's royal family. A Virnone loyalist to the core, she took up his arms and armor and joined a counterstrike to eliminate the royal family's key supporters." He stopped and sipped his beverage. "This eventually weakened the royal family, leaving them easy pickings for the Imperials. Vellanois played a role in giving this entire city-state over to the Empire. She was praised, and soon earned a ranked position among her male peers."

Baokiydu commented on Tzen's lady General. "The first female commander. Let's be damn certain she'll be the last." The Sensorian downed some cola, burped once, and looked at Jim. "So, about these work spots in the factory. I'm up for a look. I doubt my…'blisters'…will fuck up my work performance. Bandages won't get in the way."

"My bosses won't care, so long as you're willing and able to get the job done." Jim clarified that Baokiydu's 'injured refugee' cover tale wouldn't disqualify the Sensorian from employment. "And you Corporal? Are you interested?"

Ambrose cut out bits of salmon. Jim had no idea he'd probably struck a nerve. I didn't recall him learning of Ambrose's past, how the Corporal's father had been forced to work in a manufacturing plant by the House, and was consequently injured to no fault of his own. Raymond Guellad received no training and had no understanding of factory munitions, and his wound was punished, not treated as intelligence would demand.

"Though my father was coerced into a factory job, I'll do it. I'm not here on a furlough. There's a whole trove of info inside a military-controlled plant, and I'll be sure to exploit it, striking where it hurts."

I was impressed with the Corporal's will and resolve. He was _knowingly and willfully_ placing himself in a circumstance to which he bore nothing but hatred, all for a purpose. He'd take a very negative symbolism in his life and invert it completely, thus creating a chance to make that difference he so dreamed about.

"Fantastic." Jim cleaned his plate of fish and carrots, concentrating on the last third of his bagel. "Both of you should accompany me to the plant tomorrow morning. I'll introduce you as father and son."

"What about me?" I asked over an empty plate. "Am I supposed to stay here alone all day with me myself and I?"

Jim collected our used plates and utensils, and carried them over to the sink. "Yeah right. Today was your day off," he chuckled. The sound of running water filled his vicinity. "You should explore the town, get a sample of urban life in this time of martial law. It'll give you a better picture of what you're up against."

"We also need gear, an arsenal and whatnot," stated Ambrose, still concerned with fixing his unarmed status.

"You're going to a military controlled factory. Can't you get shit there?" I asked, curious.

Jim shut off the sink faucet and turned to me. "Technically we could, and it's surely more abundant there. But also keep in mind that Tzen's military runs the plant. Security is always tight, and in martial law, it's even tighter. Recall your experience at the city gates. Not to mention I have a job at the factory, a farce to maintain. I can't snatch weapons from troops while keeping up this charade. I got lucky when I killed those two armor pilots. They'd been arguing, one killing the other, and I capitalized on that. Martial law or not, plant security will always be higher than security elsewhere in town."

"So it's on me to get armor and the like?" I considered my first task.

Jim tilted his head to the side a bit. "Unless you'd prefer to stay home in the kitchen like traditional Tzenish women."

"No!," I sneered in disgust. "Fuck that sexist crock of shit!"

"I didn't think you'd run with that suggestion." Jim smiled and took our now empty drinking glasses. "Some blocks west of here is a huge market plaza. Refer to maps if you must. Explore it. There's sure to be a weapon shop within."

"You're a big girl Ajalni, sixteen years of age," Baokiydu announced. "You can manage yourself alone. You've got a nasty tongue that no one outside this house will expect, should you encounter trouble."

"Awe thanks. Though bear in mind that my competence is not in question." Still, I was glad to receive the Pung Thoshidei's encouragement.

"Just be wary of the patrolling soldiers," Jim warned. "Not that I lack faith in you, but martial law is the enforcers' favorite work environment."

"And I have absolutely no idea why," I grunted sarcastically.

_change in s_

The next morning, I pulled myself out of the guestroom bed and fixed myself some breakfast. I ate in solitude, as Ambrose and Baokiydu had already left with Jim earlier. They had their tasks, and I had mine.

After finishing my waffles with honey, I got dressed. My clothing choice was simple, a short-sleeved pink blouse, a faded pair of bell jeans, and some low-cut leather shoes. I left out the jewelry, and my watch was the cheap kind with a leather strap, not one crafted from a shiny, precious metal. The simpler my outfit, the more convincing my refugee tale.

I filled a small handbag with essentials; Tzenish currency in small denominations, a map of this local district, and a spare house key. With Jim and Ambrose both at the factory, I had no guide in my presence and needed Jim's guidebook material to compensate for my limited knowledge of Tzen's layout. Jim had also left me a spare key, in case I returned before him and the others.

I stepped out, locked Jim's front door, shouldered my handbag, and faced the street. This was behind enemy lines, an extension of House Virnone's military stronghold. Hostiles were all around, and not just in military dress. Jim mentioned that House Virnone's ass-kissers also came from middleclass walks of life. I wouldn't let my guard down.

But I revealed none of these thoughts externally. To those around, I was just a simple teenage girl going out for a day in the big city.

Using Jim's guide map, I found the nearest chocobo wagon stops, just a few blocks south of our mole's house. A vacant coach travelling westward approached five minutes later.

I waved down the driver and stepped aboard without incident. As I shut the door, he gave me a rather quizzical look. "Shouldn't you be in school right now?"

Was he suspicious, or just curious? Regardless, I had a truthful answer. "I'm not from this town. I don't go to any school here. I've only been here for three days." I deftly changed the conversation vibe, naming the market plaza that Jim mentioned the previous evening.

Ten or so minutes later, the man stopped his chocobo team near the plaza in question. I paid him the modest fee and stepped off the wagon. "Have a good day, Miss. Don't feel vulnerable travelling alone. Bandits and predators should not concern you with all these soldiers patrolling about." His words were hollow, and he likely knew nothing of it. Random street criminals were nothing compared to the Tzenish army, who were a whole other breed of bandits and predators themselves.

"Take care." I waved off the coachman. This was the entrance to the plaza sector, and it was more heavily patrolled than Jim's neighborhood. There were soldiers at just about every corner, some on foot, some on mounts, some piloting armors. Jim had warned me about enforces loving martial law. Trying to blend in, I proceeded with caution, mindful of the surroundings.

"You there! Halt!"

No sooner had I moved a dozen or so paces when a man's voice barked orders from nowhere. I didn't physically react, and played it off as not being addressed. The man could've been speaking to someone else. I nonetheless kept my guard up, proceeding towards the plaza.

"You in the jeans and pink top. What do you think you're doing?"

The voice came again, this time angrier and more commanding, and making very specific references to my clothes. Now I had to stop. I was in the spotlight, and to cut and run would blow my cover, attracting even more negative attention. I stopped and braced myself for a clash. It was pretty obvious who'd addressed me.

And I was hardly surprised when a burly man in military garb stepped up, his face a stone mask fixed into a condescending glower. His bent nose and beady eyes were even more accentuated by his nasty glare. I would play along for a short while, if only to find out why he'd stopped me.

"What is wrong with you Missy?" He narrowed his eyes. I stepped back, trying to act like a nervous civilian. He stepped forward to glare down upon me. "What are you doing?"

"Umm…going to that market place." I answered the simple truth.

"Really?" he bellowed. The man wanted to make me uncomfortable, stepping up close and speaking in a stern, spiteful voice. "Don't you understand the new rules?"

In truth I didn't. I knew about martial law, but what rule was the soldier referencing? "I'm sorry but no. I'm a refugee from outside."

My half-truth innocence didn't accomplish anything, though this didn't surprise me in the least. "You're indecent," growled the patroller. "Your attire is inappropriate for public display."

"What! My clothes?" This was truly surprising however. Bell jeans and blouses were but two of the standard garments worn by women of middle class walks of life, from teenage girls to those in their fifties. Even for those anal traditionalists in the sexist House Virnone, this was overkill.

Then I realized, things were different, ever since that brigade met its untidy demise. My clothing 'offense' violated this newly enacted martial law. "Yes, your clothes," snarled the trooper. "You think you're so cute and pretty in that shit? You think you're a beauty queen to dress like that? Well guess what. We can't have that here. We can't have promiscuous young women dressing provocatively in this time of tension, lest they disrupt the fragile peace and invoke lust in those around them."

Now that I'd gotten an answer, I stared into the man's eyes, wishing him misfortune. He'd just implied I was a hooker, and that I was to blame for any sex-addicted perverts' lack of self-control. I looked around, and kept my tongue withheld. No matter how much I wanted to, there were people around, some of whom were drawn over by the soldier's booming voice. I could kill this man, but with all these witnesses paying close attention, I'd fuck up my cover. It wasn't time for killing soldiers…yet.

With discretion, I continued my act. "Goodness, I had no idea."

A snappish response was the man's answer. "Now you do. Cover yourself up, or go back home…or would you rather I detain you for causing a public disturbance?"

The irony would've been laughable if the circumstance weren't so infuriating. I hadn't done anything remotely comparable to disturbing the peace, and his loud voice was likely causing a civil disruption by itself. Yet here he was, threatening to arrest me for something I hadn't even done. Was he just 'doing his job', or using his job as a pretext to browbeat and intimidate others? No wonder Jim said that martial law was an enforcer's favorite job environment.

"Cover myself," I repeated him, stating my words like a phrase and not a question. "How do you mean?" He never specified how.

"There's a clothing store." He pointed across the street to a shop with small horizontal windows, a business on the rim of the plaza. "If you're going to the market, I'm sure you have money on you. So buy yourself some cover...now."

I gave him another glance. He carried a metal rod that bore a recognizable electricity-emission tip, and his hand slowly reached for it. He was expecting resistance, and was adequately prepared to deal with it as such. I did the next best thing to killing him on the spot.

I did what he least expected. I began walking across the street, toward the shop he'd mentioned. When in doubt, fuck with the enemy's head. I looked back, and he was still glaring, untrusting. The mindset was mutual.

The clothing store specialized in winter garb. Some of it remained in stock, but with spring less than a month away, the prices were reduced by half at least. That said, I didn't bring too much money. I'd packed enough for basic supplies and meals. My best option was the cheapest piece on the racks.

The cheapest piece was a shapeless, sleeveless brown hooded traveler's cape, essentially a thick piece of cloth that wrapped around my neck and shoulders and hung down to my ankles. Only for the sake of blending in and getting that cocksucking Tzenish soldier off my back did I concede to wear it. And I knew this would only be temporary. More determined than ever to fuck with Tzen, I purchased the cape, wrapped it around myself, and stepped back outside.

The shopping plaza was a massive building two floors in height. Some businesses like the clothing store were in smaller buildings around the main one, but most of the livelihood was in the central structure. Shops of all trades, restaurants, pubs, and art galleries had entrances on the building's perimeter.

I was now here. My next task was exploring, figuring out a means to get info, and maybe even supplies. Ambrose wanted a weapon or two, and there was likely an arsenal shop in this commerce hotspot.

The first step was to familiarize myself with the place. I had a map for this district of Tzen, but this plaza was large enough to require a map of its own. Fortunately, just past a door into the main hub, a map hung from the wall. Businesses were colored according to their type, and each individual business was numbered on the floor plan. There was a weapons and tools vendor, on the ground floor of the main hall.

This plaza was bland on the outside, but that was hardly the case within. The architecture and decorative motif proved form and function could be one in the same. The floors were tiled with interlocking square and rectangular patterns, another use of straight line artwork. The first level was a hall with plaza tenants on both sides, and some stall vendors in the middle. There were some indoor trees planted here, ringed with wrought iron fencing and placed directly under semi-transparent skylights in the ceiling high above. The second level was a series of balconies and catwalks that overlooked the floor space of the lower level.

There were plenty of shoppers. Even with martial law during a time of war and uncertainty, a normal of going to the market plaza was still commonplace. I was not the only person wearing a shapeless cape. Dozens of other women wore the exact same type of garment. House Virnone's sexism was likely exceeding that of the Jrysthovun Council. In Jrysthovuh, some women were spared such humiliating oppression. That didn't seem to be the case here, save for the nobles and lawmakers.

Still, seeing other females clad in the baggy, shapeless piece of cloth displayed how the capes covered them from neck to ankle. The capes hid their wearers, and were so loose, they could hide more.

Bearing that in mind, I realized this extra large cape could actually prove useful. I walked over to the side of the lower hallway, behind a support column. There, I knelt down and thrust a tongue spike into the cape's inner lining. The material was thick and the garment was quite padded, but no match for my licking blade. I kept the hole small, but could easily rip it larger with my hand if need be. Before moving on, I pulled up my hood, just in case.

The tools and arsenal shop was a glorified flea market stall centered in the first floor hub. At least four soldiers stood on duty around the dozen foot high racks of weapons and shields. The racks numbered three, and a sales counter filled in the gap, making the stall a perfect square. All the merchandise was hung on the racks' inner sides, an obvious measure to deter theft.

I surveyed the weaponry, scanning for a piece or two that Ambrose would favor. He preferred smaller arms that could be held in both hands, but also in one, as to get paired with another weapon or shield.

The situation was on my side, in part. There were plenty of shoppers around, and I could observe the stall contents without raising suspicious eyebrows. That said however, I made a deliberate effort to look away from the goods and check the surroundings every moment or two. A perpetual stare at the weaponry stock would definitely turn heads, crowds or no crowds. I was also scanning for some kind of advantage.

The weapon stall wasn't the only makeshift vendor in the immediate region. A perfume seller was off to the side, gathering numerous curious parties. Behind the arms merchant was a non-stationary press kiosk selling magazines and newspapers. Beyond the mobile vendors were those in the plaza's rooms. A bookstore, a buffet diner, a closed watchmaker, an ice cream bar, a shoe store, and a pub called Sam's.

Even if I could pull this off and not get caught, I had one misgiving.

I stepped past the crowds for a single brief look at the weapons cache. Two particular items caught my attention, and I knew they'd be well-placed in the Corporal's hands. The first was a typical Tzenish war hammer. It featured a bludgeoning head on the front, and a short, gently-curving spike on the back. The second object of interest was a square shield with rounded edges, another common shape of Tzenish design. Before the weapons clerk acknowledged me, I moved beyond the counter, just another person amid the crowd.

As I looked at the empty side of a rack-wall, a man wearing an overcoat and newsboy's hat approached the counter. The clerk greeted him in near monotone. "That knife sharpening kit, if you please." The customer pointed to a box behind the shopkeeper.

I continued examining the back of the shelf wall. A nearby soldier had his back to me, observing people in the diner and bookstore for the moment. I stepped away as he turned his head. The tools merchant placed a box on the counter. "That's 400 Nakelle."

"What?" gasped the buyer. "You must be joking. I could buy a whole toolbox for that amount."

"400 Nakelle," repeated the clerk in a dry, stale voice.

"I…I don't have that kind of money," stammered the customer. "Don't you think you could cut the price a bit?"

"400 Nakelle." The merchant named his price a third time, growling angrily.

The customer raised his voice. "This…this is outrageous!"

"You know what's really outrageous?" asked the tool seller, slamming his palms on the counter top. "Someone bitching about prices enforced by the House directly. House Virnone has kept this country alive. The House will bring back the dearly departed Empire, the jewel of society and the key to the future. And you have the nerve to complain about their policies." A soldier from around the vending stand went up and glared at the buyer. "Pay the established cost or leave, demanded the clerk. "I don't sell to stingy non-patriots who can't respect the great House's wishes."

The man stood there, until the soldier grabbed his arm, pulling him away from the counter until he stomped away on his own. Other shoppers cursed him as he fled, their minds on par with the store clerk's.

Jim mentioned how tools and weapons had increased drastically in cost since martial law began. He also said blind, unquestioning patriotism and nationalism had middle class followers. This weapon merchant was just that. His metaphorical ass-kissing said it all. House Virnone was the 'jewel of society' and the 'key to the future'.

Right, and I had an extra pair of buttocks cheeks.

I would pull this off. I had no misgivings now. Stealing from House supporters was no different than stealing from House nobility itself. Now to create the right setting.

While reaching inside my cape to widen the hole, a loud jeering and metallic crash erupted from the mouth of Sam's pub. Two men stood in the entry, swaying noticeably, one them carrying a flask. He was bearded and heavyset. The man next to him was taller and sported a buzz cut. A toppled garbage can lay beside them, its content spilled on the tile floor.

"That's 'nuff o' your bullshit tricks. You cheated." The bearded man pointed accusingly at the taller one. His speech was heavily slurred.

"Me? First it was pool and now it's darts. If I win, you accuse me o' cheatin'." The second man was little more articulate. "I played fair and square. You just suck, so you compensate by calling me a liar."

"At least I don't hide behind dirty playing to cover up my lack of talent," retorted the first man.

A trooper appeared behind them. "If you're going to argue, take it elsewhere, got it?" Two more soldiers appeared behind him, with electrode-rods. Their tips crackled and sparked, declaring their users were all business. The two quarreling men stepped away from the pub as the troops dispersed a watching crowd.

Two drunk guys were arguing over darts and billiards matches, another sign of normalcy during martial law.

The soldier who'd been eyeing the bookstore left to help clean up the spilled garbage. The two drunks staggered away from Sam's, but did not let up. "Lack of talent? Me? My business got approved by the House itself," gloated the tall man. "Who's lacking talent now?" The bearded man grit his teeth and pulled his free arm back in preparation for a jab, but paused. The tall man noticed this hesitation and mocked it. "Go ahead, broad ass. You haven't got the balls."

For a second, I thought the obese man would slug the tall one, but he lowered his fist and took another drink. The two drunks wouldn't fight unless the fat one struck first. Intervention on my part was necessary.

The tall man walked past me, and the bearded one followed suit, still cursing up a storm of insults. I'd found another tactical advantage. The heavyset bearded man was truly a lard ass. His pants barely circled his waist, and the combined efforts of a belt with suspenders were needed. With his back to me, I could see the gap between his waist and the waistband of his pants. Something could fit inside that space, something like a piece of trash. There was a garbage can not two feet before me. Inside was, among other things, a stick covered with soggy food remains. I pulled it out.

The drunken duo continued their clash, the fat one drinking from his flask while the taller one gloated some more. Then he turned around. Both their backs were to me, and I had my side against the wall-shelf of the weapon kiosk, the drunks only feet from my person. Time for mayhem. Using the cape to hide my movements, I hurled the soggy stick at its target.

Bull's eye. It landed in the fat drunk's pants, parallel with his crack. I stepped away and let him take notice. He reached behind and pulled it out. His eyes darkened and his face twisted into a grimace of animalistic rage as he faced the tall man. "MOTHERFUCKER!" Throwing the stick and flask to the ground, the bearded man grabbed the tall one and threw him against the nearest object, the weapon kiosk's wall.

The shelf collapsed with several bangs, objects falling from the hooks. The weapon merchant displayed a look of horror and offense. The tall drunk regained his footing, and raised his arm for a punch. In pulling his arm back, his elbow slammed into the merchant's nose. He fell, screaming and bleeding from his nostrils as the tall drunk decked his fat rival, with little to no effect.

More rowdy yelling burst from Sam's. Three more guys rushed from the tavern, one carrying a barstool overhead. The guards at the weapons kiosk pulled the injured shopkeeper out from the dismantled stall before engaging the newest bunch. One soldier had the stool broken against his face. As he went down, two more guys ran from the pub and tackled another troop. More shouts and breaking glass followed suit.

As the first two drunks kept scuffling upon the fallen side shelf, I glanced quickly at the intact rear shelf, noting the shield and hammer I'd chosen for Ambrose remained in place. Time for grabs. I ran for that shelving in question, acting like a frightened citizen fleeing the brawl.

With full speed, I threw myself into the shelving wall. The hammer and shield fell just as planned. I knelt upon them, acting as if I'd fallen after bumping against the shelf. This cape was proving instrumental to this mayhem and thievery op. It covered not just me, but also the weapons. The small shield and hammer fit right into the hole in its lining.

Looters appeared above me, ransacking the shelf in a less subtle manner. Before a moment passed, the whole shelf toppled backwards. I'd gotten what I wanted, or what Ambrose wanted. It was time to make like several others and split.

Behind me, white flares let up from obvious non-lethal flash grenades. Someone grabbed a trash bin and flung it at the nearest soldier. Another person came up from behind and broke a wine bottle on the trooper's head. I pulled my cape closed and joined others in rushing for the nearest exit.

I was almost home free…until a hand gripped my shoulder and pulled me back. Thus stunned me long enough for the grabber to haul me off balance shove me into a narrow corridor with bathrooms at the end. Before I could react, my hood was removed and I was face-to-face with another Tzenish trooper. "Open your cape," he ordered, his strict voice audible despite the chaos out in the hub.

Now I was cornered, so close to getting out. This man glared, knowing full well I'd stash goods into my cape. My tongue was pulsating.

Would it blow my cover this time? I was alone with the soldier in this corridor. People ran past behind him, oblivious to us both. That minimized possible exposure of my specialty. And I could lower that possibility even more, if the man got close enough.

The bedlam out in the hall gave me an idea. I beckoned, motioning for him to lean close. "What did you say?" I pointed at my ear. "I'm a little hard on hearing."

The man complied, leaning down. "I said, what is in your…" His sentence was never completed. My tongue speared his neck, and I pushed the bone needle in further, until I felt his spine against my taste buds. That meant I'd punctured his nervous system. He went limp, falling to his knees before doubling over. I gasped, pretending he'd been tagged by a needle dart or some like projectile. I pulled my cape's hood back on and resumed my exodus.

Back out in the main plaza, the stench of tear gas was permeating the air, an extra reason to bail for the outside. This time, no one stopped me. I got out as a line of shielded military personnel charged in.

Armor was still unaccounted for, but the Corporal's weapons concern was no longer a factor. And I could now claim to have experienced, and fucked with, martial law Tzen.

_change in s & n_

Plumbing enhancements with an increasing expense weren't the only hot topics on my mind as of late. I remembered what Ziegfried said during the last training session with the troops, about how relics could enhance a user's fighting abilities without magic. Certain relics had properties unrelated to magic, even prior to Kefka's death. I'd used one such relic, one that immediately granted special fighting techniques that would otherwise take years to master.

I rummaged around in my bedroom closet, seeking those long forgotten pieces of battle gear. Upon slaying Kefka, I'd placed them in storage. As they receded farther back in my memory, the pile atop them grew higher. They were buried and all but forgotten, until now.

At last, three cardboard boxes later, I unearthed that pair of treasures. I opened the box flaps, enthused to find the contents no different than when I'd stashed them here.

I removed the armor-plated Dragoon boots from their improvised packaging and examined them from every angle. Did they still fit? If not, could their size be adjusted enough to make a difference? How did pieces of armor assist in the use of weapons? I didn't know how they worked, I just knew they worked. I'd used them myself on various occasions. Sometimes they were a convenient advantage, while other times they made a life-or-death difference. The ability to glide upwards, level my pole arm, and jet back down to strike from above served as a worthy backup method for a magic-based offensive with tech-tool support. With magic void in this day and age, the Dragoon fighting style could no longer be overshadowed as a backup, secondary asset.

I silently cursed myself for not having paid attention to the Dragoon arts earlier. Granted, I didn't exactly have the chance. When Sabin and I were young, our father had been wary of the brooding Imperial colossus, and stressed that we learn all we could regarding the Gestahl's dominion. Not that I wasn't a versatile, well-rounded prince, but Imperial affairs were the prime focus of my education. When dad passed away and Sabin left home, the Empire and magic were basically the only things I studied thoroughly, publically entertaining Imperial upper-class while privately sending information to the underground Returner movement. Chasing skirts and grabbing bras were simply means to retain my sanity.

With the Empire long-gone, I could finally catch up and verse myself in so many other elements that were dangling before me the whole time.

Ziegfried was out for the day, so my questions regarding the Dragoon boots relic would have to wait, as would my recent questions about Cyan's moderately 'predictable' swordplay.

I placed the box of Dragoon gear on the bed, when a knock sounded on the bedroom door. "Come in," I invited. "Don't mind the mess. I was just looking for something."

Terra stood in the doorway, an ambitious smile on her young face. "Edgar, have you a moment?"

I placed the other boxes inside the closet and slid the door closed. "I'm not involved with major tasks right now, so yes."

Taking a seat on the bed, I offered her the armchair in the corner. She took it gratefully. "I've been talking with Leonard quite a bit, sharing all the information of espers and their history. He's taking quite an interest. He believes me, at the very least."

I ignored the Dragoon boots for a second, my curiosity snagged by Terra's announcement. "Well, congratulations on that milestone. It's about time. Did you reveal your…you know?"

"Not yet, but that will come," she stated. "I'm not as timid about doing it as I was say…last month."

"Progress happens quickly when you do things the smart way," I commended. "You know it works when you're getting the results you seek, and have no confusion or doubts."

She folded her hands and diminished her smile a tad. "It's not exactly convenient though. You see, we don't meet each other as often as I'd like. The last time we met, he'd sought me out at the dojo, and I was in a hurry. He looks for me, so I can speak for him as well regarding this issue."

"That issue being?" If there was a problem, I'd do what I could to help solve it. There weren't enough easily-solved problems around. The single issue of the pending drought was more than enough by itself.

"We both live in Narshe, but always meet here. That begs the question; why? The answer; we don't have a mutual reference point in Narshe." She pointed northeast, toward the industrial city-state. "Most of our familiar places are here in Figaro. Even the moogle caves are on a far side of town. We need to find more local places up there."

She'd asked her own question to the problem, but had yet to find her answer. She was turning to me for that, but what did she want. "It sounds good, but I'm not just the listener. You want something from me, or else you wouldn't be here."

"More communication is needed between him and me. We Returners communicate back and forth easily over distances, thanks to those." She pointed at the telegraph keypad on the desk. "If Leonard had one, I'm sure he'd have used it by now. Since you installed one in my place, in Arvis's house, and in the condo shared by Locke and Celes, why can't you present Leonard with one?"

That's what she wanted, for me to have a keypad installed for Leonard's use. "There's nothing to stop me, except my not knowing where Leonard lives. That said, I could send a tech to his place with him for the installation, just as I sent one to Quildern. I'll send a local tech, someone who doesn't know much about Leonard. He's the black sheep in Narshe, but is less known here in Figaro."

"You'd do that?" asked Terra eagerly.

"Why not? If it helps you both, what reason have I to postpone it? He's got money, so I doubt the cost is beyond him. Contacting him should not be a daunting chore."

I removed a Dragoon boot from the partly-smashed box. Terra was interested in this as well. "What's that?"

"A Dragoon boot." I pulled out the second one. "A fully-functioning pair of them. I'm considering relics from awhile back, ever since the last combat training session with Ziegfried, where he mentioned such relics of non-magical states."

Terra lifted an eyebrow. "He's a Dragoon? I thought he was a master of swords and axes. I didn't know spears were part of his trade."

"I'm not sure they are, but he recognizes a wide variety of weapon styles and techniques, even if he doesn't use them himself. I guess that comes from training with other gladiators and watching them fight coliseum beasts." Terra had never seen the champ's talent for herself, so I briefed her on what he could do. "He can generate energy inside his blade and release it with force equal to a bomb. I saw him chop an old magitek leg in half with a sword alone. He can also focus himself into his weapon and retrieve it should it be lost from his grasp. Even more so, Ziegfried claimed this weapon retrieval method is what makes throwing weapons return to their master. Locke was always fond of said throwing arms."

Terra's interest was expected, and it mirrored my own. "Sounds like you should bring Locke to one of those training sessions, with said throwing weaponry. I never took heed of why they always returned to his hands. My specialty was magic."

"I will, when I get a moment. Most upcoming free time will be spent examining the Dragoon arts. I'll take care of that telegraph pad for Leonard, when I can get around to it. I do have the plumbing project as my lead objective."

Terra crossed her legs. "And the monsters evolving takes a far back seat?"

"Not a far seat," I clarified. "They're still on my mind. That's the whole reason behind these weapon technique sessions, and my motivation for exploring Dragoon spearman skills." With a boot still in my hand, it was time for that first test, the fitting. I pulled the right boot open and slid it over my right foot. Fastening it over my shin, I got the results I'd been hoping for. "What do you know? A perfect fit after three years of neglect."

As my witness, Terra was no less amused. "Fits you like a glove…err…boot. You know what I mean."

I pulled on the left boot and got the same outcome. "Of course." I looked at the clock on my nightstand. My free time would soon be up. "Have you anything else to ask? I need to be somewhere in five minutes or so."

Terra stood up from the chair. "Not today Edgar. You've answered my main questions for now."

"Glad I could be of assistance. Like I said, it may take a while, but I'll definitely get a keypad for Leonard. Just remember, business first." I stood and placed a hand on Terra's shoulder. "Sit tight, and know that I'm thinking about you both."

"Aw. That's so sweet of you, but it's to be expected considering who you are. Take care." She walked through the door and departed through the hallway.

Dragoon boots on my feet, the only thing missing was a formidable pole arm. The Aura Lance rested against a corner in the closet, and unlike the boots, the lance had been a staple in my combat toolbox. With the lance and these boots, I could do so much. The next time Ziegfried held a combat session, I'd be sure to partake and not simply observe.

_change in s & n_

I met Joe in the castle's commerce hall without inconvenience. He punched out just as I arrived. We joined commuters at the train station and boarded a train to Narshe.

Joe was rather talkative. Maybe he wanted to pass the time with something more substantial than deep silent thought. Two discussion topics were of particular interest to him. The first was the blitz that Sabin was teaching. He mentioned sitting with Relm and watching the martial arts expert show off his many talents. He had loads of questions, many of which I could not answer. I'd not had a lesson since passing out during the soul-to-axe exercise.

As the train sped through Edgar's capital, I discovered my other form of limited endurance. Joe's questions, no matter how legit or justified, were beyond my league. After a dozen I-don't-know's, a different answer was necessary. "If you're that curious about Sabin's blitz art, why not ask him for lessons? He'll answer your questions better than I ever could." I tried sounding diplomatic, not agitated. My patience wasn't under stress that much. I could understand Joe's curious enthusiasm.

Joe left that topic as it was, and focused on his other interest, the plumbing expansion here in the capital. "I've heard about rumored tax increases as of late. If Edgar's not taxed me yet, that's probably next on his list of to-do's. What do you think?"

"Couldn't tell you if you offered me a bribe," I laughed. "My experience with this plumbing project was early on, with the dairy farm. I know about it, but I'm not in the loop on details. I work here, but I don't live here. Ask Edgar yourself, if you're so concerned."

Joe chuckled. "If I asked him, he may tax me on the spot, though I'd hardly object. He's the King of Figaro, after all." We were silent as the train came and went between stops for the next several minutes. At that point, Joe broke the silence with a new topic. "Leonard, heard anything more about Mog and Umaro?"

"I'm trying not to think about that affair, let alone talk about it." I'd gotten that subject out my head, until Joe brought it up just now. "But to answer your question, no. I've shown you the moogle place. Go there yourself and ask around if you're that curious."

"Maybe." He stared out the window for a moment or two. "What do you know about Ziegfried Morersch?"

"Who the hell is that?" Such a name was completely unfamiliar to me.

Joe presented a half-serious glare. "He's the champion of Dragon's Neck Coliseum, and is also a friend of Relm's father. Sabin mentioned him at the dojo numerous times, and I've seen him there once. He's helping train the military in some weaponry practices, or so I've heard."

I shrugged with indifference. "That's news to me, but I don't pay attention to coliseum bouts." Knowing Joe was curious about Sabin's trade, I anticipated the merchant's next potential question. "If gladiator combat interests you that much, go see a match at the arena. I can't help you there."

"You're a fountain of information today Leonard, aren't you." Joe's voice suggested no mockery, just a humored statement on my lack of knowledge.

I pondered why the merchant was so curious about all these random topics. Asking about the tax on plumbing upgrades was expected, as Joe currently lived in the capital. Asking about the blitz was also inevitable, since Joe held each returner in sky high esteem. Hearing about Ziegfried, a man with abilities that likely paralleled Sabin's, a natural curiosity would follow. As for the Mog vs. Umaro clash, it was part of Joe's introduction to the moogle caves, and left a lasting impression. The everyman was very curious about these topics for a mere jewel merchant. Maybe he'd gotten bored of seeing only one facet of life, his job.

So long as Joe stayed off one particular topic, I'd have no reason to get nauseous. He'd asked me to show off more of the Narshean city-state, so learning about the Shedairah bloodbath hadn't deterred him from exploring my hometown. Hopefully it was off his mind. I tried my best to keep it off mine.

Joe resumed his silent thinking for the rest of the ride. The train arrived at and departed from the stops we'd already covered. Now the next leg of Joe's tour could commence.

This would be the last one. Joe would have ample knowledge of Narshe after this, and the next stops on the train's route were neighborhoods unfamiliar to me, Terra's Haggleston district among them.

Our train stopped and opened its doors. "Welcome to your next tour segment Joe, the Pasertym District. Got your map?"

"Right here." Joe still had the trusty city map he'd grabbed last visit. He followed me out to the platform as other commuters filed in. "What's to see in this neck of the woods?"

In truth, there wasn't all that much here. Pasertym was largely a residential neighborhood, though it did have businesses and wide streets in several places. Aside from that, it was a typical run-of-the-mill district. It didn't have the hillside feel (or moogle cave proximity) of the Verdsanath District, nor did it have the rich, artistic-and-historical vibe of the Rasnayffe District. Pasertym also lacked the technology and industry feel of certain other districts in the northern and eastern parts of Narshe, and it was decidedly less stylistic than the various uptown and commercial districts in the northwest. All of Pasertym's features—schools, parks, theatres—were overshadowed by those in other neighborhoods. Pasertym was a Narshean small-town suburbia.

But it did have one appealing feature. It was among the cheaper sectors in which to live. On that premise alone, I figured Joe would be interested on some level.

The two of us walked down a street with shops and restaurants on both sides. Joe's mind was buried in the city map, so I steered him around pedestrians, lamp poles, newspaper machines, and trash bins as we proceeded. "I'm glad you're memorizing the street map," I pointed out. "If you want to relocate, it should be here. It's one of less pricey neighborhoods."

He finally looked up from the map. "Seems good so far, even if it's a tad bland on the outside."

With his attention locked on the surroundings, it was a good time to be honest. "After we explore this locale, the tour will end." His attention slowly shifted towards me. "You've got all you need, and I don't know much about the next neighborhoods on the train's route. Terra lives in one of them. If you wish to explore the next stop with a guide, ask her. I can't help you beyond this sector."

"Did my knowledgeable guide just admit ignorance of his own backyard?" Joe burst out laughing. "Actually, that's fine. I don't need you holding my hand and walking me through town. You know, it's funny that you mention Terra."

"Why is that? Are you gonna ask that she be your next tour guide?"

Joe laughed again. "I don't know. I'm not thinking that far ahead. I'm actually thinking about the last time I saw you, saw her and you both outside the dojo."

I'd also been thinking about that, and how Joe hadn't ruined the mood only because he'd ruined the chance for a mood to even start, all without trying. And maybe even without knowing. But even if he suspected it, I said nothing. "What about that time?"

"I noticed…something, about the way she looked at you. When I mentioned it to Relm in the dojo, she said that you and Terra…are interested in each other."

We walked up the street. Joe really had noticed our interaction, though he said nothing about disrupting it. "You could say that. I mean, she did save my life. Why should I not be interested?"

"I had a woman once." Joe stared at some shops across the widening street. "But she got fed up with me, claiming I was married to my gem career. Diamonds can only be a girl's best friend for so long. They don't substitute attention, something of which I could not give enough, not with my job demands. We parted ways for the better, for both of us."

"I too love my work, even if I come home smelling of cow feces. But I wouldn't neglect my close friends because of my profession." That was sort of true in the past, but it was limited, as I had few others in my life I could trust. Nowadays it was more prevalent, as I had more close companions these days. "I certainly won't take Terra for granted. Relm would haunt me if I ever did, and that's just one of her close friends."

Streetlights were coming on, and I was getting hungry. "Okay Joe. Here's where I leave you. You've got your map, and I've got a growling stomach. If you like this neighborhood, seek out a realtor's office."

"So far, it seems like a quaint little suburb, nothing spectacular, but I'm not one who craves excessive luxuries. I'm a simple man. But…I am curious. You said you've little knowledge of this district. Whereabouts do you live?"

"Me?" Since when had I last been asked that question? Very few people knew where I dwelt. I hadn't even disclosed my location to Sabin, Terra, Edgar, or the rest of the crew. It was a long-standing habit of mine to withhold my living location, for damned good reasons. I had a past that continued haunting me, even today. The only means to counter my family's notoriety was to live in secret.

But Joe's curiosity was genuine, and if I avoided the question, that would easily send out the very message I wanted contained. Joe might suspect I was hiding something, and I wished that he remain ignorant of such affairs. My honest answer was vague. "I don't live close by. I live over towards the eastern part of town."

Joe spread his map out. "That would be the Brokmawer District?"

"Somewhere near that part." Again, I kept the answer truthful but over-generalized.

That answer satisfied him. He changed the subject. "Are there any Returner contacts around these parts?"

"Not to the best of my knowledge." This was a simpler reply. I didn't know of any fellow associates living here in Pasertym. I doubted Arvis lived in such an average neighborhood, what with his being a senator.

"Oh well. Not that it matters. I'll be fine. Thanks for the tours Leonard. I've got exploring of my own to accomplish. I'll see you in Figaro."

"You bet. Take care Joe." I waved him off as he crossed the intersecting road and made for a shopping plaza. As he went further into Pasertym, I turned and headed back for the train station.

I had exploring of my own to undertake. The best place to meet Terra would be someplace in between our respective neighborhoods, somewhere east of Haggleston and west of Brokmawer.

Eventually, I could reveal the location of my dwelling, at least to her, when the time was right. If Joe's curiosity persisted, maybe I could have him over too…eventually.

But my thoughts were mostly on Terra as I approached the Pasertym train station.

_change in s & n_

Jim had a spacious workshop in his house, and it monopolized almost half the first floor. Except for a single window, in a door leading to the back yard, there was no means for soldiers outside to see within, and that window was covered with a drawstring shade.

Not only did the workshop offer privacy, it was organized to allow maximum space in the center. The walls were packed with shelves and pegboards, and large pieces like tables and stationary power tools were placed along the room's periphery. Ambrose had both cover and room to practice with his new arsenal. I watched as he performed random combos of kicks, knee thrusts, shield swipes, and hammer blows.

Jim and Baokiydu had already gone to bed. They both had to leave early in the morning. Ambrose however, didn't share Baokiydu's newly acquired position. While there were openings galore in Tzen's munitions plants, there were just as many applicants looking to fill them. As a learned academic, Baokiydu proved knowledgeable enough to impress the factory's on-site military personnel. As I was told, this placed the Sensorian high above the vast majority of applicants, leaving Ambrose forgotten amid thousands of other job seekers.

In a way, I was glad and even relieved that the Tzenish-born Corporal would not be working in the machine plant. Even if he'd resolved to let go and feel nothing, it would spare him from the environment that nearly killed his father. Baokiydu had gotten inside, so Jim had someone to assist him in gathering data. Two moles in the plant were enough, especially when considering Baokiydu's vision and hearing capabilities.

Ambrose pulled off a quick uppercut with the rim of his shield before crouching to swipe the hammer at his imaginary foe's knees. "So, now that you know of my day, how did yours go?" He stood and held up the two weapons. "I know you did something. You didn't just buy these."

"Did you hear about a riot inside the Gabier District Plaza? If not, check tomorrow's paper." I sent him a wink.

"Ajalni, you're one real shit-disturber." He swung the shield to his left and the hammer to his right. While they were two distinct motions, they were offset by just a slight gap, with the hammer swing staring before the shield swing had finished. The air whooshed from the speed of the blended strikes. "How'd you do it?"

"Two drunks were arguing over darts and pool games. One of them wasn't bold enough to strike first, and the other had no interest in striking at all. I tossed a piece of trash into Drunk One's pants. He naturally blamed Drunk Two, and subsequently threw him into the weapons kiosk and started beating his ass. The shelves collapsed, the shopkeeper got hit in the face, and more drunks ran from the nearby pub to join the fun. Store guards were quickly overwhelmed."

"And you lifted these during the chaos?" asked the Corporal while swinging up with the hammer's spike end. "No one saw you run with them in your hands?"

"Well, I didn't have them in my hands. You see, before I even entered the plaza, some dickhead soldier yelled at me for being dressed…'indecently'. He even threatened to bust me if I didn't go home or cover myself. Not looking to blow my cover, I followed his order and bought myself a brown hooded travelling cape." That cape now hung sloppily over the guestroom chair. I'd only wear it when necessary to blend in. Eventually, its use would become obsolete. "What's so fucking indecent about this look?" I pointed at my pink blouse and bell jeans, wearing them proudly in this private setting.

"House Virnone is tyrannical." Ambrose charged forward a step and pushed out with both shield and hammer. "They're just making rules and using them as a pretext for mind control. Of course, this is martial law, so rules are questioned even less in times like these. If you want a list of 'inappropriate' garments, check the newspaper. The list only applies to women, as I'm sure you know."

I sneered in disgust. "Yes, I noticed how only women wrapped themselves in travelling capes. But, that cape proved useful. I cut a hole in the lining and stuffed those weapons inside. It also concealed my hand when I tossed garbage into the drunk's pants. I was unseen, mostly. As I joined a mob in running from the riot, a soldier grabbed me, pulled me into a side hall, and demanded to see in my cape. No one else was around, so I lured the man in close and tongue-stabbed him. I fled without any further incident."

"Well, you made good selections. This shield is just my type, and while I'd still prefer the Jrysthovuhn rangamju, this hammer will suffice." He twirled the war hammer about. "What kind of guy was this merchant? From what you got, I'd say he stocked quite a collection."

"A House lover, and the kind worth stealing from. He was a real cocksucker too. The fucker was charging 400 Nakelle for a mere knife sharpener."

The Corporal froze in his offensive stance. "400 Nakelle? A basic kit only costs one tenth of that."

"That's why I stole from that merchant. He praised the House as the jewel of the future and scorned the customer for not paying such an out-the-ass price. He called that buyer stingy, and other customers threw more insults." I folded my arms and smiled. "I feel good about stealing form that piece of Virnone-loving shit. I hope his entire kiosk got pillaged. It's less money for those control freaks in the House."

Ambrose swung down with the shield's edge, following up with a forward knee strike. "Pillaging from pro-House merchants is hardly a crime, but it's hardly a step towards our goal. That weapon seller was not a high-profile House interest." He thrust the hammer outwards, despite its lack of pointy tip. "We need to find more significant targets, where destructive acts will gain attention, and possibly inspire secretive House haters to follow suit. But mainly, we should first cut Tzen off from the outside. That also requires major targets. Our objective is to cripple the army's function. Of course we'll need to gather data before striking. Jim and Baokiydu will be the primary…'investigators' to that end, but you and I can uncover some juice ourselves."

"For a low-ranking Corporal, you're quite decisive. Given time, maybe I'll call you High Shenthaxa Guellad," I joked.

The Corporal resumed his exercises, neither humored nor insulted. I was let down a bit, since I didn't get a laugh as I'd hoped, but I figured Ambrose's mind was on business. He'd spent his day touring a factory under military control, while I instigated a riot, stole weapons from a jerk-off shopkeeper, and killed a soldier in five minutes, only to spend the rest of my day exploring the district. Just from the way he spoke, he was thinking hard. In fact, maybe he was planning our next move. "Since you're on a role, do you have any major target in mind?"

Ambrose swung both weapons outward in wide horizontal arch, delivering a high kick to finish off his theorized enemy. "Ajalni, I thought you'd never ask." This time, I did get a laugh. "You'll love this one."

"I'm listening."


	23. Decisive Progression

**Chapter 23: Decisive Progression**

The two swords glided and spun through the air, clashing against one another with metallic bangs and scraping noises that sounded off, almost rhythmically. Their respective wielders stepped in, out, or side-stepped between connections of forged steel. Every other clash delivered a shower of white-hot sparks. All eyes were fixed upon the two sword masters, including mine.

Cyan and Ziegfried parried and blocked each other's blade strikes with reflexes and precision fitting to their expertise. However, the two experts weren't completely equal. I hadn't forgotten what Ziegfried mentioned about the Doman style of swordplay, that it was rather linear and could be anticipated by an opponent familiar with its form and technique. I'd called for a training session between the Doman General and the champion gladiator specifically to ascertain this.

Cyan wasn't disappointing me, but Ziegfried's assessment held more water than I'd initially thought. Neither man had landed a blow to the other, but the window of time for blocking the other's blade was different for each warrior. While Ziegfried's long sword was stopped inches from Cyan, the Doman's Sky Render murasame was stopped almost a foot if not more so from the gladiator. Ziegfried really was able to predict Cyan's moves to an extent, and block them quicker.

For all his years of experience, Cyan Garamonde wasn't the most versatile swordsman out there. Ziegfried Morersch, an ex-naval soldier and mercenary-turned-gladiator, had discovered something that I, the King of the world's most advanced nation, knew nothing about until now.

For a Monarch of royal blood, this was humbling.

I kept a neutral face however, and remained observant on the training demo. The two swords crossed once more. This time, Cyan stepped back slowly and lowered his blade, while Ziegfried assumed a defensive stance, gripping his weapon at eye level with the blade pointing at a downward angle. "Most impressive, Ziegfried Morersch." Cyan sheathed his blade. "T'is been years since I've met a swordsman who could match my prowess."

Ziegfried bowed to Cyan, then turned and bowed to the observing military personnel, as though he'd just won a Dragon's Neck match before a cheering audience. The army staff was just as awed as the typical arena patron, if not more so. Unlike the coliseum spectators, the soldiers present would actually get to learn and practice a few weapon specialties of their own.

When the applause concluded, the arena champ addressed me. "The King of Figaro wishes to spar with the King of the fight pit, so I've heard."

"That is correct." I stepped up past a line of gathered soldiers. Despite their sturdiness, these plated dragoon boots allowed for speed and movement, though it made sense after a little thought. Dragoons were hardly standstill fighters. "I seek to practice the art of Dragoon Lancing. I presume you've some familiarity with it."

"Dragoon." Ziegfried accentuated the spear style. "As a matter of fact, I know quite a bit, as some of my fellow gladiators excelled in it." He sheathed his long sword with a metallic ringing. "If you wish to spar with a pole arm, I'll spar using my broad axe." The champ of Olistes retrieved his axe from against the training room wall. It was a fitting opponent to my choice weapon, the Aura Lance.

The two of us stood in the center of the room. Ziegfried gripped his axe with two hands in a frontal stance. "Before you display any advanced Dragoon techniques, I'd like to see your basic spearman skills."

"Sure. We're all beginners at some point. An expert's just a beginner who stuck with it long enough." My Aura Lance was quite ornate, a far cry from the gladiator's pole axe. The lance's tip resembled a pine tree, an aesthetic form that lent itself to function. The jagged edges leading to its point made the Aura Lance ideal for slashing as well as thrusting. The weapon was light enough to carry in one hand for quick swings or stabs, but sturdy enough to deflect incoming blows, and deliver hits with enough force to dent or scratch most body armors with cumulative strikes.

How would the Aura Lance perform against Ziegfried's axe? There was only one way to find out. "On your time Edgar." The gladiator was ready, and so was I.

I swung the lance with both hands from my right. The shaft of Ziegfried's axe deflected my cut upwards, and the axe head came swinging down. Such a counter move was expected, and I back-stepped diagonally beyond the axe's reach. The axe head bashed down upon the composite stone floor, and I responded with a straight thrust, which Ziegfried parried upwards using the rear side of the axe head. Using this vertical momentum, the champion followed his parry with a swing from the axe handle's pummel, which I countered using the butt end of the lance. This deflection put space between us.

The Dragon's Neck gladiator changed his grip on the axe. He placed both hands near the pummel, a grip used for swings that generated intense amounts of centrifugal force. While these attacks were extremely powerful, they'd leave the wielder open for a moment or two if the attack missed. However, Ziegfried Morersch was experienced in broad axe combat, and could follow the momentum of a wide-angled swing. He slashed from my left at stomach level. Instead of swaying off balance, he regained his footing and swung horizontally once again, this time stepping in to close the gap.

A breeze pushed against my face. This was more than just skilled handling of a long pole axe. This had to be another of those spirit-to-weapon techniques much like the Hyper-drive. Ziegfried had effectively turned himself into a moving cyclone of sharp, heavy steal and iron, or more accurately, a reverse cyclone. The air currents were blowing outwards from his location, not inward.

The axe chopped the air again, this time at neck level. The gladiator was altering his grip and cutting at different heights each time. The key to countering such a maneuver was not in attacking directly, but to properly time a strike when the axe tip had passed. I lifted my lance and took note of the champion's rhythm pattern. When Ziegfried stepped up for another sideways chop, I carefully gauged its level. This one came down to shin height, allowing me to dodge it by jumping. Reflexively, I front-kicked my sparring partner's armored cuirass, not hard as I would in a real fight, but hard enough to knock him back. He staggered, one hand losing hold of the axe shaft, and I followed up, twirling the lance once overhead before thrusting downwards.

Ziegfried did not use his axe to guard, but he did something just as effective. He blocked the Aura Lance's tip using the spike-studded plate on his right glove, pushing my piece to the left. I used this sideways motion to add a right cross hook using the lance's pummel end. However, this too was blocked, by the accomplished brawler's left hand. His next action was the simple clearing of his throat. "Impressive, though I would expect such talent from you. King of Figaro or not, your knowledge of the spear is to be hailed."

I let down and stood at ease while the brawler picked up his axe. He'd dropped it when blocking my swipe. That was a realization. My attack combo had successfully disarmed Ziegfried of his weapon. I'd accomplished something which Cyan, a career soldier with twenty-three years on me and thirty plus years of service under his belt, had not. Had the finest from Dragon's Neck been easy on me during this match?

It was my turn to receive an applause, but I didn't stop to savor it much. I was more intent on getting into a Dragoon Lancer's mindset, as it was from the mind which dragoon techniques originated. "I've got the relics for the dragoon practice." I pointed down at my armored boots. "You did mention relics as a means to enhance fighting skills."

Ziegfried looked back and forth between my spear and my greaves. "That is correct, Edgar, but the weapon is still where it all begins. Without the proper arm, those boots will grant you nothing."

"I'm well aware of that. These aren't called soul-to-relics techniques, but soul-to-weapons." I aimed the Aura Lance forward at waist level. "So, we gotta start somewhere. How about some practice jumps to warm up?"

"Areal attacks are but one aspect of the Dragoon arts," advised Ziegfried. "Fast twirls and propeller-like attacks also play a key role. Try starting there. Remember, you must feel with the weapon, and let it become an extension of spiritual yourself."

What was I supposed to feel, aside from the lance in my hands? I could do the practice right and not even realize it. Nonetheless, theorizing would only take me so far. It was time to actually experiment with this newfound knowledge.

I started with some basics that I'd done thousands of times over, spinning the lance horizontally overhead from both standing and crouching postures, then spinning it vertically at my front and sides. The air swished as the lance's blade and pummel cut through it with each pass, but this was expected.

Then, something happened. I could feel the Aura Lance beaming with some new energy, as if it was pulsating in my hands. It was getting warm and cooling down with pulse-like patterns. The patterns were mimicking my heartbeat!

The swishing became faster and more high-pitched. The lance was spinning more like an airship's rotor than a spear in human hands.

"That's it!" Ziegfried's voice was loud enough to hear beyond the swishing noise, though he wasn't fully clear. It sounded like he was speaking to me from inside a wind tunnel, a wind tunnel of my own making that encircled me alone.

The next change was something I knew all too well, a sensation in my feet. The Dragoon Boots were doing their job.

I slowed my twirls, but maintained my concentration. Ziegfried's voice was clearer now. "On your time Edgar. Aim for that target you made."

The target in question was a frozen solid chunk of beef covered in armored plates from an old magitek unit's hull. The purpose of this meat and metal hybrid was to simulate a heavily-armored monster, much like the giant snapping turtle found in the Shedairah mine.

I stepped forward with a sprint. Only two steps were necessary. The Dragoon Boots did their part, boosted my stepping distance and speed. Closing the gap, I shouldered the Aura Lance, ready to thrust out as my feet touched the floor. Once they did, spear and armored pile made contact.

The blast sounded like a dwarfed-down clap of thunder, much like Ziegfried's Hyper-drive cut. Flashes of light spiraled out from the Aura Lance's tip, like dancing sparks from a knife upon a grinding wheel. Seconds later, the sparks faded, the noise's echo died…and I broke into a sweat.

The resonation from my boots and spear was gone. I used the Aura Lance to brace myself as I swayed to the right. "Edgar!" Ziegfried was at my side, with Cyan close behind him. The gladiator's gloved hand came down upon my shoulder as I shifted my weight against the lance.

"Thank you Ziegfried, but I'll be fine," I assured the champion. "I'm just winded and sweaty. I've been through worse."

"As of recent?" asked Cyan. "T'is been some years since you last donned the boots of a dragoon warrior."

Cyan was right. After Kefka's death, the dragoon arts were purged from my thoughts. Only from Ziegfried's talk of relics used in battle did I remember them, and the skills they enhanced. Even back when I used them, I was hardly a seasoned dragoon spearman.

I glanced up and met Cyan's dark brown eyes. "Well I have been out of practice for three years and then some."

"Still, the damage is obvious." Ziegfried tapped his gauntlet against one of the hull plates, causing a deep clang of steel on steel. "Look."

I'd stabbed one of the squared plate shards dead center. The metal surface was heavily dented inwards, and a glowing red hot spot marked the indentation. Even the plate's corners had warped. While I didn't penetrate the armor chunk, the energy had been transferred beyond it. Water dripped from underneath the damaged hull shard, melted ice from the tremendous force applied in my thrust. "Next time, maybe I'll pierce the armor and crack the ice. It's motivation, to say the least." By now I could stand freely. I spun the Aura Lance once in my right hand. "More practice is certainly in order."

"Indeed. I'd say your round has been well spent." Ziegfried scanned the room. "I believe you're up next Colonel."

Jerom Frennard joined the Olistes champ in the center of the floor carrying his favored weapons, a huge claymore sword and a small parrying dagger. Cyan and I returned to the room's periphery to watch. As long sword clashed with giant sword, the Knight of Doma asked, "What of Locke and Celes?"

I'd sent the couple in Quildern a telegraph message about Locke's preferred throwing weapons. Ziegfried had mentioned that boomerangs and discuses had specialized techniques all their own, and I wanted Locke to bring them here and practice with Ziegfried in person. Neither of them had shown up. "I'm sure they'll get the message. For now, they need not be here to understand its point."

_change in s & n_

Our condo was modest, but it did have some essentials to compensate. One such quality was a spacious backyard. Locke and I had more than enough room to move about.

"So…what exactly did Edgar ask? It was clear he was curious about weapons like this." Locke carried one of his favorite weapons, a boomerang known as a wing edge. Its blunt inner edge was for holding, and the sharpened outer edge was the attacking part. "What's this newfound curiosity about throwing blades?"

We'd spent most of the previous day working in the Dennalty Plaza, selling refurbished treasures and relics. When we came home after a prosperous day, the light on the telegraph in our bedroom was flashing, and a sheet of paper jutted out from the top with a printed message from Edgar.

"You know that he and the soldiers have been training with Ziegfried, and the gladiator has spoken much about weapon techniques and relics that increase skills without using magical properties. The message said something about weapons that can be thrown and return to the wielder's hands. I presume boomerangs and razor discs fit into that techniques category." I wasn't quoting Edgar's message word for word, but I fully relayed its purpose.

"Without Ziegfried's presence, we can't be sure of what he means by 'techniques'. That's such a broad, vague term." Locke made some throwing motions with his wing edge, without letting go of it. "It's too bad we couldn't make the training session yesterday."

"There'll be more to come," I surmised. This obviously hadn't been the first. "In the meantime, we can brush up on such techniques here. We should re-familiarize ourselves with our favored weapons, especially you." I pointed my Strato tip at him non-threateningly. "Edgar's message specifically referred to your favorite battle toys, and you're more out of practice than me. Remember, I cut down a street corner's worth of thugs in Fondanin to locate Relm and escape the Zozoans' ambush."

"How can I forget? You even gave one a sex-change operation. But enough of the past. Why not begin with some warm-ups?"

"You first. You know the target, so…toss your stuff, like you did back in the Imperial and Kefkan days."

The target was a long-dead oak tree in the corner of our backyard. Almost totally void of branches and completely void of leaves, this empty husk of a once-thriving tree had long since petrified. Removing it was easier said than done, for its roots went deep and spread wide beneath the soil. Despite its unsightliness, the dead oak provided us a fine, fitting target for weapon practice. A few slashes were etched into its trunk, marks where I'd once tested my slashing strength and the Strato's cutting power. New cuts were about to made, cuts with a much different kind of weapon.

"Here goes…something I've not done in over three years." Locke faced the dead oak and eyed the distance between it and himself. He reached back, stepped forward, and threw the wing edge with a downward hand motion. Though he'd not performed such action since Kefka's death, he was anything but rusty. The wing edged flipped through the air and stuck its target, lodging itself into the hardened bark, before falling to the grass below.

"And?" I prompted. "You know what comes next, right? Doesn't it come back to you?"

We both stood there, looking at the wing edge lying in the grass. Locke reached for it as though beckoning the blade to return, but it remained motionless. He walked over to the boomerang and picked it up. "I guess some of my talent has withered since the old days. Hit or miss, the weapon usually comes back, just like you said."

"It used to, and you really weren't making it happen back then, or were you?" As I'd never used boomerangs or bladed discs, I had no idea how they worked in connection with their users. "Edgar's message spoke of this process, something like 'transmit your mental focus into your weapon and think with it', or similar terminology."

"I'm clueless as you on that one," admitted Locke. "But why not have at it once more?" He tossed the wing edge again.

This time, he got results…in some small way. The spinning, moon-shaped blade put another gash in the tree's petrified surface. Instead if embedding itself in the wooden crust, the boomerang rebounded off and spun back to Locke. At its halfway point, he reached for it, only to have it flip downward and stick its tip into the dirt.

"Oh well, you're getting somewhere. Keep it up." It would take some time for Locke to reacquaint himself with his old favorite weaponry class. He didn't need me around for practicing it, and I too wished to practice my own arts. "You know, since you've got the boomerang out, let's try something new. Wait here for a sec." I went back in the house, rummaged around in the wood hope chest, and came back with two armor-lined vests, a pair of choker-type neck guards, and two plated masks, presenting Locke with one of each item.

"And this is for?" He asked the question with an obvious answer.

I fastened on my vest and choker. "Protective gear, duh. Since you've been out of practice, I wouldn't want either of us getting injured off the battlefield."

Reluctant, he started pulling on his mail vest. "You mean…throw it at you?"

"Catch and parry. I deflect what you throw, and you try catching it," I answered once I'd secured my mask.

"Okay. Tell me when." He applied the rest of his protective gear and stood with boomerang in hand some twenty feet away. I took a stance with both hands on the Strato's handle, shoulders straight and knees bent. On my cue, he let the wing edge loose.

It glided laterally, sailing at me in a second's time. I raised the Strato to meet the boomerang and swung against the spinning crescent. A high-pitch clang sounded, and the blade spun wobbling back to Locke, losing height before he snatched it from hip level.

I stepped back about ten paces. "Now try this distance," I signaled, to which he replied with an underhand toss. At my end, the Strato went from over my left shoulder to near my right foot in a diagonal cut, tagging the wing edge once again. The downward momentum sent Locke's toy on a descending path to the lawn, where it land perfectly on the middle of its outer edge, not two feet from him.

"You're supposed to send it back all the way. Who's out of practice now?" jeered Locke, chuckling. He took a kneeling posture. "I'm going low this time." He unleashed the curved throwing blade at shin level.

My answer was to slash up from my ankles, swinging my sword like a golf club, with Locke's wing edge as the ball. This vertical motion knocked the wing edge back into an upwards arch. Instead of reaching forward, Locke hooked in from his side to catch the boomerang's inner edge.

I was about to give another prompt, but heard a few patter noises against my mask. Pulling it off revealed some drops of water, and few more came down before my eyes. Overhead, dark puffy clouds were rolling in from the west, a thundershower from the Lucaissa Plains.

"God damn it," complained Locke. "Just as things are getting fun, in comes the rain to spoil it all." He removed his own mask and sent the sky a dirty look.

"At least we got some warm-ups done." I sheathed my sword and went back toward the house, with Locke following as rain drops came down faster. "Besides, we should really do this at the military command center in the capital, with Edgar, Cyan, and Ziegfried observing our talents."

By the time we got back inside and closed the back door, a full rainstorm had settled in, pelting the roof outside noisily. Locke peered through the sliding back door's window, as rain water cascaded off the leather canopy over the patio. "Spring is but a couple weeks around the corner, but the rainy season hasn't quite subsided."

"You would know. In Kohlingen, the rainy season is constant, in some form or another. I need not explain such to a native like yourself." While Locke watched the rainfall, I flipped on our bedroom light and took a seat in front of the telegraph. Edgar had messaged us regarding thrown weapons, so I would message him in return, discussing our little practice and expressing interest in training with Ziegfried. We'd talk it over with the trade guild in charge of swap meets at the Dennalty Plaza, and find a day when we both could take leave.

_change in s & n_

It was time for serious action, not just instigating a riot amidst drunks in a shopping plaza, but something real.

Jim and Baokiydu were doing mole work in the factory, so Ambrose and I would cause sabotage in town. Jim had mentioned a key point of interest, a place quite familiar to Ambrose. We'd spent the last two days formulating a plan and gathering the necessary supplies. With the tools acquired and the MO laid out, it was time to fuck shit up.

We rode north in a stagecoach, to the outskirts of Tzen's capital. Despite the densely packed city streets, we encountered little hindrance in this late morning commute. The soldiers were hard at work, directing traffic flows and keeping public order.

Finally, the coachman stopped where we'd asked. We disembarked, Ambrose paid the man, and the wagon turned south, heading back into town. Before us was a rugged foothill. I stared up at the scene on top of it.

"Okay Ajalni. You know what to do and how." Ambrose carried a small bag that he'd filled with essentials, all of which he said were common objects that wouldn't arouse suspicion, even if they were found.

"I've been looking forward to this. It begins today." I gazed at the distant setting on the hill.

Tzen was a landlocked city-state. Unlike Albrook, House Virnone's capital had no substantial ports or docks. The House relied on harbors from regions conquered by their Imperial idols. But while House Virnone lacked sea ports, it had its share of a different kind.

Atop the hill was the Elporviran Field, a port for airships. It also possessed a long-range radio emissions tower, a utility through which Tzen could communicate with the outside world. The elevated position of the airship field made it the ideal place for the emission tower, and thus a multi-purpose utility spot was born. It was the only place of importance within Tzen's capital that wasn't inside the estate of the royal family.

Elporviran wasn't the most heavily guarded region here in Tzen. Far from it. The ruling aristocracy had their own private airfield, which made Elporviran a semi-public domain. Ambrose knew much about the place. Before he escaped to Albrook, his mother Elizabeth, coerced into being an exotic dancer by the House, often entertained soldiers and service crews who worked at this hilltop airfield. Though it employed a great deal of military staff, Elporviran itself was not a military site.

With that said however, the airfield wasn't open to just anybody. They did have security measures. Plans for getting inside were already established, but getting around once in there would be a whole different task by itself. The Corporal could move about freely once we cleared the guards. I wasn't so fortunate however. Being female, I could not claim to be airfield personnel. In Tzenish tradition, teenage girls belonged at home, minding the house and prepping for pregnancy. I'd have to lay low while the Corporal passed himself off as a crew person.

Still, I had one advantage he did not.

We left the open street and walked behind a warehouse, using dumpsters for cover as we verbalized the plan once more. "I know how I'm doing my part. But you have no augments. What's up your sleeve for this one?"

Ambrose pulled a box and a bottle from his supply bag. "These."

I examined the objects he carried in each hand. The box was obvious, fireplace matches. Unlike flammable solutions, matches were not heavily taxed and regulated in this time of martial law. Wood-burning fireplaces and incense were in frequent use by many House lovers, so attaining matches hadn't been a problem. Fire-lighter was something else. I looked closely at the bottle of deep brown fluid in Ambrose's right hand, reading its label. "Orange Chocobo? Why bring Tzen's number one scotch on a mission like this?"

The Tzenish-born Corporal knew his country and its goods through and through. He leaned in and whispered, "This is Tzen's most alcoholic beverage. Sure, it's no petrol product, but it's flammable enough to get the job done. And being a beverage, the House thinks it won't be used in such a manner, else they'd tax it like kerosene and paint thinner."

The House was underestimating potential opposition, something that made our jobs much easier, while it lasted. Their paranoia would grow in time...like after today.

"We're not here to loiter around storehouse garbage. We've a job to do." Ambrose re-bagged the matches and alcohol. "Mission Elporviran starts now."

The two of us moved out, scaling the hillside. We didn't go the direct route, but instead approached from the side. The front end of Elporviran, which faced the capital below, was the most heavily-patrolled. Bushes, large rocks, and trees covered our advance.

Despite Elporviran being an airfield, there were no airborne vessels to be seen in the sky above Tzen. House Virnone lacked a formidable air force, as most of their sky artillery belonged to the late Empire, and was subsequently demolished in the great collapse. What remained afterward had been picked off the by the notorious Doom Gaze creature, and with assaults from both Albrook's House and Maranda's Duke (not to mention ourselves) post-Palazzo, House Virnone's areal transit was limited to civilian freighters. That could change. Jim said the factory needed hundreds of extra workers as of late. Was that because of a plan to resume military aircraft production?

Jim and Baokiydu could investigate that matter. My business was here.

The open landing pad was situated on the airfield's north and northwest sides. At the field's west edge was a loading dock. A train route linked Elporviran with various other parts of Tzen, including the Virnone family's private estates. While it was open to authorized passengers, this train was mostly used in the transport of cargo in mass volumes.

And that was our key inside. We'd sneak in from the shipping and receiving zone on the western side.

"Still got your map," asked the Corporal.

I reached into a jeans pocket and pulled out the pamphlet in question. "I wouldn't leave home without it." In planning this operation, we'd gathered map leaflets of the place. Because Elporviran was semi-open to the public, a library in town provided these maps. We knew exactly where to go once inside.

"Then let's do this." Ambrose glanced toward the loading dock, where massive crates and cargo stacks were piled behind a cyclone fence. It was high and topped with razor wire, but cyclone fences like this hadn't stopped me before. It wouldn't stop me now.

The crates and piles of cargo offered cover with their height and bulk. In this time of martial law, most guards were on patrol at major entrances, like the dock gates and front end. They were overstaffed in obvious points but sparse at less conventional points. Jim had actually been here just before we'd arrived in town. Our mole assisted with unloading supplies from the train, and saw how guards were heavily clustered only around specific points during daytime. We crept up to the fence, unseen and unheard. Jim had pointed out this particular segment of fencing because it was far removed from the loading dock gates, and because a generator was placed between here and the guarded loading zone, something to obscure our entry. Ambrose traced oval patterns over the fence wire. "Ajalni, use your organic…'pliers', if you will."

'Pliers' was the most accurate term for this use of my tongue. The tip was forked into a pair of points, with each end bearing a sharp, coarse bone shard on the inner edge. Pressing the ends together, the shards acted like pliers' blades, snipping the fence's wire grid enough times to create an opening. Ambrose went in first, with me close behind.

The loading yard was packed with so many shipping crates, they formed walls and hallways throughout. A massive crane towered high above in the distance, no doubt the means to move such gigantic units of cargo. Another metal structure was partly visible from our perspective, the emissions tower.

No soldiers patrolled the shipping dock's interior, at least not along the path we took from the fence to the edge of the main warehouse. The shutter door was wide open, so we got inside without hassle. "Okay, time to split up. But first, let's synchronize watches." Ambrose pulled his coat sleeve back and checked his watch. As his was likely the more precise one, I adjusted mine to it. "Good," he acknowledged. "We rendezvous back here in ten. If one of us doesn't come back, proceed with the plan anyway. If we get detained, the plan should cause a distraction to allow escape. Nonetheless, watch yourself. You're too young to pass for a port worker."

"Thank you Corporal, but recall how we got past that fence. I have a gift that you don't." I smiled.

"That you do. Use it well, as always. Good luck." With that, we split up. He made for the hangar section, intent on neutralizing any functional vessels and ships under maintenance. I proceeded down a hall, bound for the eastern section, the radio tower.

Using my map a reference, I avoided major corridors. Patrols were likely stationed there, and if they had any, so were security surveillance bots. My route consisted of sorting rooms and storage chambers. Though I initially despised it, I continued using the hooded brown traveler's cape for the time being. It helped conceal my identity to some degree.

My destination soon came up, the radio tower. Unlike the halls and stock rooms of Elporviran, the entrance to the tower was another heavily guarded point. I didn't know how many guards were there, but enough to avert me from getting too close.

Fortunately, the plan didn't involve my accessing the tower directly. I only needed to access key points around it. Given the round, circular hallway just outside the tower's entrance, I could accomplish this, provided I steered clear of the north side. According to my pamphlet map, my points of purpose were on the hall's east and west sides.

And they couldn't have been a more efficient spot. My points were the nearby restrooms, the ideal place for concealing my intentions, a place built for privacy. I slipped into the one at the hall's eastern side. There were half a dozen stalls, any of which could provide cover. I took the one in the far corner, shut and latched the door, and looked for the best section of wall, a section where damage would be overlooked. The choice was obvious, a section behind the toilet.

I knelt down and let out my tongue once again. Rather than form a single bone claw on the tip, I formed many claws along one entire side, creating a 'hacksaw'. I also covered my tongue in a soft membrane to catch dust that would inevitably form. Placing my organic saw against the chosen wall spot, I started some back and forth motions, sliding the bony spikes against the plaster surface.

I'd cut half a square when the restroom door creaked open. I'd expected something like this, and ceased my wall-cutting for the moment. The space between the stall dividers and the floor showed two pairs of armored legs step near the sink, soldiers in greaves. I sat down, acting like some airfield employee on a shit break.

"Spare me such a fairytale," growled a husky voice. "It's nothing but a rumor that you're spreading, and that's if you didn't make it up yourself."

"I didn't make it up," protested a second voice with a slight whine. "I'm telling you, someone should really look into it."

The husky-voiced man grew increasingly aggravated with his whiny-voiced companion. "Why? So we can prove what an idiot you are? If you search for what does not exist, what the hell do you expect to find?"

Despite the whine in his voice, the second man was unrelenting. "What if I'm right, huh? Put yourself in my shoes. If you learned what I've learned, would you just sweep it under the carpet?"

What had the whiny-voiced soldier learned? I bit my lip for a second. Was he referring to us Nyufalng, our presence in Tzen, and our purpose? Coincidence had placed me in the right place at the right time to overhear these men converse about some secret that could spell disaster, but what was that secret. Why did the gruff-voiced man take such an emotional stance against it? If the whiny man had learned of possible anti-House groups, the gruff would logically investigate, not blow off the scenario. I kept on listening.

"You're lucky that I'm chewing you out and nothing more, Private Azarme," said the first man, his voice low yet stern. "If Commander Clehan or someone from the brass heard you talking that shit, _you'd_ be tried for treason, on a good day. Any other day would see your execution faster than a wink. I'm infuriated that you're defiling the glorious House with something no more valid than a grade school urban legend. _Never_ say things like that unless you have solid…concrete…proof." For dramatics, he emphasized the last three words.

The whiny-voiced Azarme wasn't finished. "Sergeant Huvern, these aren't just random hearsay rumors. They're a too authentic, and their sources too credible. It's in the House's best interest that I share this with you."

"Best interest?" replied Huvern with a sneer. "If you know what's good for _your_ best interest, you'll shut your mouth on this. Either you made this up, or you're echoing distorted fables."

"It could be serious," tried Azarme once more.

Huvern's voice became an angry hiss. "If that is so, tell this to his face directly. Maybe then I'll believe you. Until then, I don't want any more talk of this matter, or I'll give you up. Lord Brofias himself would see to your execution, the fitting punishment for you slandering him like you are. He's true, an upholder of rightful tradition. Now let's get back to the tower."

The door creaked open. Azarme and Huvern left without any more words, the door clunking shut after them. I sighed in relief. They'd not been talking about us Nyufalng. Lords Brofias and Chadimus were the sons of House Virnone's ruling Earl, with Chadimus being the older of the two. But this known fact did nothing to explain the 'secret' that Azarme had learned, something which deeply offended Huvern. Speaking ill of Tzen's ruling family was bound to have consequences, even if the criticism was legit. Huvern's reaction was expected, yet Azarme didn't waver. If the Private was speaking such ills in the face of such consequences, claiming it was in the House's best interest, what had he learned? How did it involve Brofias?

There'd come a time for pondering these questions. Right now, a task awaited completion. The square was almost cut out, and that was just part of the operation. With Azarme and Huvern gone from my secretive presence, I resumed 'sawing' the hole. In short order, a complete square had been sectioned out, and a single tongue spike did the honors of prying it away.

Now came the next part. Shedding the dust-coated membrane on my tongue and dropping it into the toilet, I grabbed several toilet paper sheets and wound them into a tightly-bunched wad. All I needed was a spark for ignition, and my tongue answered the calling once again. At my choosing, large glossy lumps formed among my taste buds, like shiny blackened canker sores. However, these lumps weren't sores at all, but transmitters of my own bioelectricity. If I desired, they could shock and burn whatever they touched. I 'licked' the paper wad and sent energy through the lump in contact. The growth flashed as it worked its wonder, setting the paper stack ablaze like a finger-sized match. The burning paper chunk was then placed inside the hole.

There were tactical reasons for setting a blaze inside the wall. First, it was obviously hidden, and would be obscured until it had grown too large for conventional extinguishment. This also kept the smoke and heat from setting off alarms or sprinklers in the fire's crucial early minutes. And there was plenty of electrical wiring inside the wall, which would serve to feed the blaze.

With the fire burning, I replaced the drywall square, wiped up the plaster dust with a wet piece of toilet tissue, and flushed the evidence. I'd also positioned the match above the square hole, so rising smoke would not leak out and be seen. A quick glance at my watch revealed six minutes had passed since I'd matched time with Ambrose. It was time to regroup. I left the bathroom and proceeded back through the sorting rooms.

In the dark corner of the warehouse, shrouded by crates and the shadows they cast, I awaited the Corporal's return. Eight and a half minutes had lapsed, according to my watch, before I peeked through a gap between crates and saw a familiar man head my way. We met up, and he was all business. "Let's go." I could hear shouts beyond, near the hangar no doubt.

I followed Ambrose's lead and hauled ass from the airfield's primary storeroom. Outside, the smell of burning wood filled the storage yard. Black smoke was pouring out from a roll-up hangar door. Guards from the landing pad and shipping gates were piling inside as "FIRE!" was yelled again and again, embellished with a flurry of swears. We'd gotten out before the guard personnel stormed in. Ambrose had anticipated this kind of response.

"I knew Orange Chocobo was potent." The Corporal admired his work. "So, now I ask, what happened on your end?"

"A hole in the wall, a paper match, and a fire in a very concealed space," I boasted of my own accomplishments. Though from this vantage point, I couldn't see much but rising smoke.

We explored the storage yard and found our entry hole in the wire fence, just as we'd left it. Exiting the grounds of Elporviran, we were in the clear. Several paces out, I could view my handiwork. Orange and yellow talons of flame slapped at the metal pylon used for radio communications. Dark smoke puffed out from the fiery columns and spread like a blanket of pitch black fog. Both our efforts were being rewarded tenfold.

We descended the hill as the whaling fire alarm sounded back at the field. If there were any military armors with fire suppression blasters built in, they'd be called up to fight the dual blaze. Down the hill, I looked back. The radio tower was now a pillar of flame in itself, and the hangar was also flaring up with gouts and fireballs of its own.

"By the way Ajalni, I got me this." Ambrose unzipped his jacket to reveal the armored chest of a mail cuirass. "I found it inside a box in the hangar. I presume these were to be shipped off to garrisons outside of town, Rosseaund to the south, or Nadreloitt to the west."

"It coordinates with the shield and hammer I lifted for you," I teased. He smiled for a split second. He wasn't thinking beyond the mission quite yet. However, neither was I. "Did you hear any interesting conversation from the port staff during your task?"

He shook his head. "Just a little feud between maintenance guys, bickering over who the House favors more. Why? What did you hear?"

"Two soldiers quarreling in the bathroom, on of 'em bashing the other for slandering…supposedly, Lord Brofias of the House. I don't know details beyond that much, but my interest is definitely perked."

"Brofias, eh?" Ambrose blinked in curiosity. "We'll discuss this with Jim and Baokiydu later on. For now, let's distance ourselves from Elporviran." We did just that, descending the hill the rest of the way, arriving at the old warehouse again. Townspeople were pointing and gasping at the hilltop, as the twin blazes made their presence clear to the northern districts of Tzen. We looked back once more, this time amid the onlookers, as the two infernos devoured their respective bits of airfield site atop the hill. Elporviran's total destruction wasn't the goal of this mission, but we'd accomplish what we'd set our minds to do, disable the cargo ships and long-range radio antenna, even disrupting a supply shipment as a bonus.

Except for other parts on southern continent, Tzen had no contact with the outside world as of now. And this vey public act would inspire those of like mind.

_change in s & n_

"Go Terra! I know you've learned much. It's your turn to impress me!"

With Sabin's encouraging words, I carried on with the exercise. The dojo's fenced-off yard was sprawling, build for these kinds of drills. Inside the actual dojo was too cramped and confined.

Flat stones were placed here and there throughout the yard, and I leaped, flipped, and cart-wheeled between them. I jumped from one rock to another, slashing back and forth before adding and downward cut to finish off the chain. Three slashes, and I was still airborne. I braced myself to land from this jump, crouching and cutting sideways the second my feet touched the next flattened rock. Standing, my next leap wasn't directly forward, but diagonally forward to my left. The jump's momentum was perfectly blended with a diagonal chop from my upper right, and the cut's motion synched with my landing. The next rock was accessible with a single bound, but I chose a more sophisticated performance, leaping sideways against the yard fence and rebounding off, throwing a side kick before landing once more.

To reach the next rock, I had only to cart-wheel, shoving my blade's tip into the dirt between the rocks, balancing on the upturned sword before completing the arch and pulling the blade out. "So, how was that?"

Sabin clapped. "Are you really the same girl I first saw on Mount Koltz over four years back? You're so much more skilled and well-rounded than she was. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, she aspired to be like you."

Having concluded the dramatics, I stepped off the rock, slowly and subtly. "Well, I have surprised myself a lot since then."

"Keep up the good work, my ever-changing pupil. Next time, there will be targets to consider in your little dance routine." Sabin spoke as if he was taking a vow of great proportions. Thinking along such lines, I realized it was a vow to my learning.

"I'll be sure to practice." To emphasize this, I side-stepped, slashed in a 360, and thrust up at face level upon the circle's completion.

We headed back inside the dojo room, to a surprise display. One of the stuffed burlap practice dummies was riddled with over a dozen small knives. They'd not been there earlier. A scan of the room answered how this happened. On the opposite side of the dojo stood a very enthusiastic Relm, and her hands didn't wield pencil or paintbrush. The teen girl carried a dirk, like those which had stabbed the burlap dummy. With a single motion, she tossed the last knife. It spun vertically, stabbing the dummy in its pectorals.

Relm wasn't alone. Sitting along the wall was Joe, applauding the young Thamasan's performance. "And I thought your paintings and sketches were something. This here's a whole different art, the art of dagger tossing."

Relm jumped with joy, her usual reaction to such praise. In her skips and hops of excitement, she noticed us. "Oh, Sabin. Umm…don't mind me. I was just…practicing the ninja arts. I mean…that's what this place is for, right?" She looked embarrassed.

Sabin winked. "I gave you permission to spend your time here. This facility is yours, so long as I'm around. You need not permission to use dummies and weapons in the second floor storeroom if I'm present." He masterfully put the high-strung girl at ease. Relm sighed with relief.

"So…where did you learn that? I can't imagine any youth academy or school of art would teach the trade of throwing weapons." Joe stood and joined the young girl. "Fine arts and martial arts really aren't one in the same."

"I learned it from watching my father." Relm's voice lost most of its spunk.

Joe flexed his fingers and stretched. "I'll say. You and your old man must have a very special bond if he's taught you his trade of combat so proficiently." At his words, Relm's jaw dropped.

Sabin and I exchanged nervous looks. Though Relm and Shadow's family relationship was widely known, the details of their emotional and psychological relationship were not. We Returners had learned the nasty truth, and sometimes I preferred to forget it. Poor Joe didn't realize he'd just trampled a sensitive spot with his innocent remark.

I gazed at Relm, as she gazed down at the floor, hands balled into fists. Though certainly against her wishes, she could lose her temper and snap when her father became a subject of talk, especially in the manner in which Joe had mentioned him. His assumption about this father-daughter bond couldn't have been more erroneous.

I had to intervene. "Joe, funny you should mention that. We actually don't see Shadow that much. Occasionally he drops by, but it's seldom, and he's around for less than a day. But if you're talking about kinship as battle comrades, than yes, there is a bond. After all the trials we endured and surmounted as a group, it's impossible to lack such a bonding."

Relm relaxed, and Sabin gave me a 'big brother' pat on the back. I'd diffused Relm's angst without lambasting Joe. Blitz moves were not my only talents.

"Of course, of course. I should have realized, but guessing such a fact and hearing it from you directly are very different experiences." Joe looked at his pocket watch. "Hey, I don't mean to bail suddenly, but I must get back to the castle hall, before my break time ends. King Edgar is a generous man, but he still enforces punctuality. I'll see you around." Joe waved and left the dojo. Even if he was an associate, the love-hate relationship between Relm and her father was far too personal to share with him.

With Joe gone, Sabin and examined Relm's handiwork. "Impressive. Each knife struck a vital." The blitz master pointed at the various daggers in the burlap mannequin. "You got the solar plexus, both lungs at least twice, major arteries in the thighs. Relm, this is enough kill shots to neutralize a full squad of enemies. One foe would be dead five times over, at least."

"Whoo-hoo!" The young girl raised her fists in the air and leaped again. As she came down, her voice was more composed. "I trust the assessments of a pro like you."

"You'll have to come back and try this again, next time. I must be off." Sabin pointed north, toward his cottage. "It's my turn to make dinner this evening. Marielle's coming home later than usual, and I want to start cooking before she arrives."

"You can't keep the Missus waiting." Relm pulled the dirks from the dummy and went upstairs to the closet. The perforated training dummy followed suit.

I sheathed my scimitar. Though weapons were largely prohibited on the public trains in Figaro, one could bring a piece on board if they had a license. As a Returner, I was licensed. I needn't leave my sword here at the training hall. "Talking about dinner just got me hungry, so I'll make like you and split." I bid my teacher and Relm good-bye and left for the train platform. The ride back to Narshe was just like any other at this time.

However, something new awaited me at home. The telegraph on my nightstand was flashing its light, and there was a printed message atop. Sometimes I got messages when I was out, but the surprise was in who'd sent this particular message. Reading the black print made it very clear who'd contacted my place during the day.

This message claimed to be from Leonard.

Edgar had listened to my voice, and taken my idea to heart. If this message was true, Leonard was now in possession of a telegraph keypad, and had used it to contact me.

That bagged the question. How'd he learn my contact recipient code? I'd never told him, since he'd not had a machine of his own until now.

No sooner had I asked the question did I answer it. Edgar had sent a telecoms person with a keypad to Leonard's place from Figaro. It was likely he'd given Leonard a note with my keypad's contact code. It was the simplest explanation. Satisfied, I read the message again.

Leonard was curious about places between our two residences, specifically mentioning his 'place in eastern Narshe.'

East Narshe was near the hills which opened to the Lete River's mouth. One particular district rang a bell, the Brokmawer neighborhood. That area was practically out in the sticks, as far as one could be without leaving Narshe's city limits entirely. It was predominantly residential neighborhoods, with a share of smaller businesses and the like. I could picture these neighborhoods resembling the Pasertym District, a suburban part of town that I passed on train rides to and from the capital. The only difference was geographical surroundings. Pasertym was centralized, and didn't lead into hillsides and woodlands.

A middle-class neighborhood on the edge of town was the perfect place for a man of infamy (even the undeserved sort) like Leonard to reside. It made sense that he'd dwell in a setting like that, regardless of his financial status. It was secretive, exactly what he wanted.

But he wasn't being fully secretive. He'd clearly dropped a hint of his living whereabouts to me in this telegraph message, and that meant he was opening up, coming out from the impenetrable shell in which he'd guarded himself for years.

It was just as I'd hoped. Opening up on my end was compelling him to do likewise on his.

Thinking all this did nothing for a reply. The page sat there on my telegraph, as if begging me to write my own response. The last line of the message was a numerical code for just that, the contact code for Leonard's brand new keypad. I was ready to insert a fresh sheet of paper to answer his message, but I couldn't think of a fitting response. I couldn't answer his question about hotspots between my district and his…yet.

But I'd soon look into his request, for the curiosity was now mutual. And that was a key to the inevitable reply. I set up the keypad with a blank page to answer Leonard, telling him I'd gotten his message. On my next day off, it would be time to explore parts of Narshe to the east.

_change in s & n_

"Fuck," I said yet again, reading the newspaper headline, the source of my disappointment.

It was Jim's day off, and his 'trainee' Baokiydu was thus off too. I sat on a rocking chair in the second floor bedroom which the Sensorian chose for himself, reading the front page of the day's newspaper. The lead story was something from the day before, something of which only us Nyufalng knew the truth.

"Ajalni, did you really not expect this?" Baokiydu sat on the bed, reaching into his boots to smooth out the lining. "You know the press only says what House Virnone allows."

His patience was really shining now, mostly because I was the one getting aggravated. Still, I'd contained my annoyance upon realizing I'd been too hasty in believing Mission Elporviran would yield a certain result. For the most part, it went according to plan. The air vessels and radio tower were demolished in the dual fires Ambrose and I had set, and the supply shipment, an unforeseen factor, had been stalled, with the Corporal treating himself to some body armor.

But that was all. I read the headline of the newspaper once more, noting how deft the House was in keeping its stranglehold on the Tzenish people.

Power Surge Cause of Elporviran Hellfire.

"I guess you're right," I admitted, "I should've known the House would suspect foul play and halt any potential threats quickly, before said issues could escalate."

"Of course," rasped the Pung Thoshidei, looking up from his boot. "If House Virnone went public with a story of deliberate arson, it would produce the exact thing we want, which is just what the House dreads." He resumed fidgeting around in his boot. "Publically announcing that someone could've lit those fires on purpose would prove there are individuals in town with the ability and ambition to defy this Imperial loyalist government. They can't have that, can they?"

"No, you're right." I looked at the front page picture, a distant view of Elporviran taken from the south, as both fires raged furiously. Publically declared an accident of failed maintenance, our successful arson would not inspire like minds to similar deeds against the House. "But at least we pulled off the rest of our objectives. I'm not complaining _that_ much."

Finished with his left boot, the Sensorian picked up the right one, reaching inside to align the padding within, quite a feat of dexterity considering his chubby fingers. "Now you're thinking with optimism."

I was thinking with irony too, such it was for the bad-tempered Baokiydu to use that term in a relevant context. He was usually the one bitching about trivial matters. Slower-than-preferred machinery, a delayed meal, a drafty breeze, Qaurjaeda's flatulence, subpar groupie sex, and pants wedgies were but a few of his pet peeves.

But there was his pre-Nyufalng past, a past which hadn't yet been buried in full. Before catching Ruqojjen and Yithadri's attention, Baokiydu worked for the Jrysthovuhn Council as one of their leading scholars, bookworm that he was. That meant he'd assisted the Council in the oppression of Jrysthovuh without realizing it. Only after he failed living up to their increasingly rigorous demands did he see the truth. He still carried that burden around inside of him, and while he'd always been moody and short-fused, this guilt greatly accentuated those traits of his persona.

I swayed back and forth in the rocker as he finished his boot maintenance. He sat back on the guest bed, letting his unshaved beer gut droop over the waistband of his pants. Thinking optimistically, I stopped the rocker and referenced the chance discussion between the two airfield guards. "The press can cover up that inferno's true cause, but I heard shit that wasn't meant for public ears, and it's unfolding significantly, regardless of what the paper says. Have you heard anything about Brofias that would evoke suspicion?"

Baokiydu shrugged. "No, but truth be told, I've not been listening. I'll be sure to tune my ears for such. I'm almost done with training at the factory, so I'll be moving around independently of Jim."

"What could that Private have meant?" I asked aloud, more to myself than to Baokiydu. "In what manner was he 'slandering' Brofias? The Sergeant was too stern for something minor, and the Private was too determined."

I glanced down the hall toward another upstairs room of Jim's house. This was the 'electronics room', where a radio bank was stored. This was how we contacted our inside man before leaving Albrook, and how we messaged Albrook once we'd arrived. Now, Jim and Ambrose were relaying information and events that had unfolded since our last transmission, Elporviran, the media's cover story, and the chat of Brofias being prime topics.

Our radio operated differently than those used by Tzen's army. We used a different frequency, something that was too low for the House to track or receive by accident, a frequency that was unaffected by the destruction of Elporviran's radio antenna. There was a catch however. Because the frequency was lower and less obvious, our transmissions would fade if communication lasted beyond a certain time frame. The result was our exchanging only the essential necessities.

Baokiydu's room had a single window that looked down on the street out front. I peeked through the blinds, restless. A northbound stagecoach passed, but there was no activity afterward. "So what's next?" This time, I was addressing the Sensorian. "I presume we investigate this Brofias matter, but it's not like we can just confront the man."

Baokiydu leaned back, patting his flab. "I know my task. You and Ambrose will get some new groundwork missions, more than likely. We'll know after he and Jim finish talking with HQ."

Still waiting for our transmission to finish, I grabbed the newspaper and flipped to a different page. This wasn't a news story, but a list of all the attire deemed 'inappropriate' for public. I cringed as I read the listed 'offenders', sleeveless tops, strapless tops, off-the-shoulder tops, tops with low-cut necks. Further down the list revealed the taboo garments weren't confined to shirts and blouses. Short skirts and pants that were slim in any way also made the shit list. Even brightly colored garments of 'legitimate' cut were included. And yes, the list only applied to women. The list would probably grow, for any reason, or no reason at all. If those Empire lovers got board and wished to create and enforce new laws just for the hell of it, they'd not hesitate. Their laws had always been a disguising pretext for domination, but this escalated shit to even higher levels. House Virnone was nitpicking in ways that made even Jyrsthovuh's Council look tolerant. If that wasn't insulting, what was?

Jim's voice sounded in the upstairs hallway, and not in Jrysthovuhn. Our transmission had concluded. "Corporal, I'll take that war hammer and modify it to your liking. From what you've told me, I have the perfect idea, but come by for a progress check all the same."

"Thanks Jim." Ambrose stood in the doorway as footsteps descended the stairs. "We just got finished speaking to Honored Shamaness Juyolahriss down in Albrook. She commends us for the Elporviran op, and is hardly surprised with the press denying arson."

"Even I'm no longer surprised." I placed the newspaper on the desk. "But what next? What about this Brofias matter, and how do we inspire any House haters to come out of the woodwork?"

He leaned against the door frame. "There's actually one answer to all those questions. We need to get closer to the military centers and government quarters in town. If there's really something amiss with Brofias, it'll make for closed door discussions amid the aristocracy, a touchy subject they'll want kept beneath tight wraps."

"They were probably the trusted 'sources' which the Private mentioned," I surmised, swaying the rocking chair a little. "So we bring this secret to light, expose it, and ruin the collective House Virnone in full?"

"It's not that simple." Baokiydu sat up straight "Not in practice anyway. House Virnone has a much more solid infrastructure than the late House of Albrook. Toppling Sireck and Edrina's regime was easier in part because they didn't have the resources or traditionalist following which Imperial sympathizers like House Virnone can boast."

"Is that why you took down Albrook first, and made it your base of operations?" asked the Corporal.

"We knew Albrook better than here or Maranda," Baokiydu answered. "Because Albrook was always a harbor town, Jrysthovuhn merchants, refugees, and exiles usually wound up there first. Albrook was the closest major port outside of Jrysthovuh, and could still be, despite the geographical changes brought on by the great collapse."

"Familiarity was a deciding factor, and once the Empire was destroyed, Albrook's aristocracy was less established than the Duke of Maranda's or the House here in Tzen. I was most familiar with Albrook," I stated with pride. "Let's not forget it's my hometown."

"With a name like Ajalni?" Ambrose went wide-eyed. "That's not a given name of Albrooker origins. I thought you were Jrysthovuhn."

"Half Jrysthovuhn," I clarified. "My mother was born there, and when she and my Albrook-born dad tried fleeing the Empire for safe haven in her native land, the Council refused her plea, on the grounds that she'd 'tainted the sacred race' by bearing a half-blood child. My father was executed for merely 'trespassing', and mom and I were given two options, slavery or homelessness. We chose the latter obviously. It's better to scrounge for life in limited freedom than beg for death in complete shackles." I got off the past and spoke of the present. "Did Yithadri give any directives on getting close to upper class ends of society here?"

"Her only directive was to explore the town for ourselves, and report back once we've collected more data for an actual strategy. You," he looked at the Sensorian "have an objective that remains unchanged. Be eyes and ears in the factory, and listen for military operations, anything regarding Tzen's response to that brigade killed in action."

"Will do." Baokiydu tightened a fist. "That was our first reason for coming here. I don't focus my senses unless I'm there, and not preoccupied. My essence has enough stored energy to keep up the sporadic use of sensory focus. Should I need more blood energy though…well, a random soldier's heart will suffice. I'm a Pung Thoshidei mind you."

"Do what you must, when you must, but we're still undercover." Ambrose offered a reminder of our immediate goals. "It's time to escalate our eves-dropping operations. But rest assured, the time for combative action will come. We're stepping in that direction."

The Sensorian flexed his fingers against his thighs. Bones snapped as he worked out the stiffness. "So what's going on in Albrook?"

"The usual. Creations are getting smarter and more talented." The Corporal looked southeast, the distant direction of our Nyufalng-seized territory. "And, something you'll really enjoy." His eyes snapped to me. "Albrook received a message from Sergeant Tanrevilt."

I stood quickly from the rocking chair, hearing it bump the wall behind me. "Really? I've been wondering about that. What's he doing?"

_change in s & n_

Handheld weapon techniques weren't the only form of growth in Figaro's army. My signature weapon technology was also developing. "King Edgar, as I promised, this is it." Cid removed a cover cloth from his newest invention. "The brand new lighting cannon."

Cyan stood next to me, quiet. The gathered military staff also said nothing. It was me who broke the silence. "It looks no different from the older model."

"Aye, but looks don't make the product. It's all about function." The professor ran his palm along the cannon barrel, as if he were stroking a rare pedigree of chocobo. This piece of combat artillery was his pride and joy, as the aforementioned chocobo breed was to a rancher. Cid had every reason to grandstand.

However, I had yet to see the improvements of this newer version. "How's this model different from its predecessor?" Every soldier here was probably asking that question.

"I could explain it to you in words, but I think you'd rather experience the improvements for yourself. So I'll let you try it out." The leading scientist gestured at the new weapon upgrade.

I examined the new lightning blaster from every angle. It was mounted on a stand with its own wheels and frontal shield visor, and could be removed from its mount stem and carried by hand. This one had the exact same targeting screen, safety lever, and squeeze trigger found on its previous incarnation. So far, nothing had changed. Not that I was seeking change in these basic features. These aspects had always been efficient.

Because this demonstration involved heavy firepower, we'd moved outside to the firing and explosives yard of the military base. Various scarp piles of wood and steel were neatly aligned in a row. "We've assembled some makeshift targets for this new model." Cid pointed at the scrap heap on the far right. "Start there if you wish to see the fullness of the new upgrade."

Pivoting the mounted cannon to aim at the farthest garbage pile, I activated the weapon, unlocked its trigger safety lever, and checked the targeting window. The scraps were centered. Anxious and eager, I squeeze the firing mechanism. The results were spectacular, in relative terms. A flashing blue beam of electricity zigzagged from the gun's mouth, crackling and sizzling as it streaked over to the junk mound. The noises got more dramatic as the bolt crashed against the pile, igniting steel and wood in a blink. However, I expected this. The older version worked just the same. I released the trigger and stared at Cid. "And?"

"Keep going. Hold the firing button and sweep across like so." His hands moved horizontally. "These junk piles were lined up in this arrangement for a reason. Hold the trigger down and sweep. Try it."

I aimed the barrel at the next intact junk heap and squeezed. Another piercing blue and silver beam exploded from the device, and another junk heap was engulfed in fire. However, instead of releasing the trigger button, I held it down as Cid instructed, and rotated the gun to the left.

This was the new improvement. The older models would overheat and burst apart if the trigger was depressed for this long. This newer model had overcome that limitation. The jagged bolt of machinery-generated lightning moved as I moved the gun's aim, setting the next junk pile ablaze. Once that heap received ample voltage, I swept the gun to next pile, without releasing the trigger. The third heap was set aflame, though not as quickly as the previous two. The discharge bolt was thinning out.

A finger tapped my shoulder. At that prompting, I let go of the button. Cid smiled. "Impressive, would you not agree?"

"Impressive hardly describes it in full." I looked down at the newly baptized lightning cannon model. "You've done well. But I must ask, why did the beam thin out and lose intensity?"

"I'm sure you recall the older problem, overheating with sustained usage. Well, worry no more. That loss in beam power is simply an automatic safety mechanism," answered the professor. "If the gun's temperature gets too high, the power will automatically cut off. This prevents further activation until the temperature returns to normal. It takes but mere seconds. Try firing again." Another press of the trigger proved Cid right. The gun was blasting electricity at full power once more. "It's the flow of electrical power within. We've improved it so the weapon can be fired in more of a rapid succession, or held down for short continuous intervals."

Cyan reached to offer Cid a handshake of success. "Regardless of my own machinery knowledge, you've accomplished quite a feat of scientific prowess, Professor Marquez." The soldier around began cheering and clapping.

This new upgrade of lighting cannon would allow its user to spray a wide area with high voltage electricity. This improved circulation of energy allowed one to sweep through more vast amounts of space than the previous, now obsolete model. With short controlled bursts, a single unit could deliver massive damage to very large groups of enemies, and the sweeping ability gave the gun an edge against smaller, more mobile targets. Its final touch of practicality was that it used the exact same energy cell charge packs used by the previous version. The old source of ammunition power was just as compatible with the new upgrade.

Troops grabbed fire extinguishers and dowsed the burning junk heaps. As Cyan ordered the present troops to clean up the burnt wood and deformed metal scraps, one soldier approached me. "My liege. The Queen wishes to speak with you."

Charise stood in the doorway leading back inside the military complex. "Come to watch the light show?" I brushed my hands from her hips up to her breasts.

"Interesting, but no. You do realize that as King, you can't just play with your toys all day." She placed her hands on my own. "I'm updating you on the plumbing progress."

She was right about my 'toys'. I did have other obligations, like the water utilities. "What's new there?"

"I was just talking to the Reservoir Guild. The pending area has just been finished. However, it will take a bit longer than usual to start on the next area."

My lip curled reflexively. "Why is that? Is there a problem with the tools, do we need extra workers to perform the construction?"

"No, the tools are fine, for now. They're good enough to last through the next planned phase. And the current staff number is enough to get the job done."

"So...what's the holdup?" I tried staying neutral. No matter what my feelings, preconceived cynicism wouldn't help.

"Well…it's just…" Her eyes darted from side to side as she considered her words. "We've not received all the money required to start the next piece of the process."

"Huh?" My eyes followed her example, looking up, down, and sideways as I ingested this unforeseen bit of news.

"We don't have all the funds." Her eyes remained on me this time. "The Guild can't begin the next stretch until they have all the money to foot the labor and parts bills."

I released her hands from mine. "Well, that makes sense. I wouldn't expect work to commence without the necessary funding. The real question is, why has the money not yet been supplied?"

"That I don't know," confessed my wife. "The Guild didn't explain why, and I don't presume they know either, else they'd have said something. The money is coming in, but not as quickly as it did before."

"And until we get all the money to supply the cost, this plumbing process will be delayed?" I could feel my shoulders sag.

"I'd speak to the Reservoir Guild to be sure, but my educated assumption would be to say yes."

Charise's words brought my spirits down. The highs I'd received from witnessing the upgraded lightning cannon were sinking fast. I didn't blame her for it. She was only providing truthful updates on this grueling necessity of my capital's water utilities. She was correct to bring me such news immediately after it became relevant, regardless of its nature.

She was blank, as was I. Neither of us had a direct, complete answer. The only place to go was in her suggestion. I'd speak with the Guild when I got the chance. I could not stall on this project. The warm spring months were close at hand.

"Thank you darling. I appreciate you keeping me in the loop. Don't burden yourself with tracking down a Guild representative. I'll see to that myself." I leaned in and kissed her lips.

"Always on top of everything, like a Monarch should be," Charise acknowledged once we'd both withdrawn from our embrace.

Her smile was moderately uplifting, and she hadn't said there was _no_ money coming in. She only mentioned it was coming in slower than usual. That was enough cause for optimism…for now.


	24. Uncovered Wisdom

**Chapter 24: Uncovered Wisdom**

Locke's discus impacted Ziegfried's long sword with a loud ping. Swift as the dish-sized throwing weapon moved, Ziegfried's long sword was no clunky melee weapon. In his expert hands, the straight sword moved at a speed to match the razor ring.

The discus sailed back to Locke, who grabbed it with his right hand. My telegraph message to him and Celes was taken to heart. The treasure hunter had certainly been practicing with his long-distance throwing weapons. Each time Ziegfried knocked the discus back to Locke, the treasure hunter knew where to place himself for the catch. This talent was no random coincidence. There had to be some link between Locke and the circular weapon. Either Locke was able to predict the ring's trajectory, or his mind was somehow pulling the discus toward his position. Either way, I could only imagine this was a prime example of the soul-to-weapon link that Ziegfried had referenced various times.

The swift Returner caught his disc and threw it once more, smoothly blending the catch and the toss into a single flowing motion with his arm. The gladiator of Dragon's Neck deflected it in kind. Locke sidestepped and reached for the spinning blade ring, but instead of halting in his grasp, it bounced off his finger tips, wobbled, and hit the training hall's floor. It spun on its edge before tipping over on its flat side.

"Impressive, but still not perfect." Ziegfried pointed at the fallen discus with his long sword's tip.

"Hey, practice makes perfect, right?" Locke reached down and picked up the ring. "I've only been practicing with this for less than two weeks following a three-year hiatus. Considering those time frames, I'd say I'm pretty damned good." He twirled it around his pointer finger.

Now was a good time to interject. "Locke, how are you doing that? Are you anticipating the weapon's path of motion, or willing it towards you with your mind?"

"Well…sort a combination of both. I can steer it a little, but mostly I can predict its movement, so it's more a case of anticipation than hands-off control." He tossed the discus upwards, took a step, and caught it behind his back. "If I could actually move it after releasing it, I'd never miss the mark. Even then, outside forces can disrupt the weapon's return path, wind, rain, and the like."

That answered one of my questions, but I still another, more pertinent one. "So you're able to predict its motions. I'm still curious how this is. Are you…'channeling' your focus into that weapon?"

Celes had been leaning again the side wall. "That makes two of us Edgar. I've been asking that same question ever since we got your message and started practicing in the backyard."

Locke sent his love a sheepish face. "I don't know _how._ I just do it. It's possible the weapon absorbs my concentration. It would make sense, given what we've learned about this weapon class, eh Ziegfried?" He winked at the gladiator. "With that in mind, I figured these weapons would allow for more spectacular tricks instead of mere fortune telling. Was I wrong to think a boomerang or discus could do something that lights up and goes bang?"

Ziegfried laughed hardily, a rarity for him, from what I'd seen. "No, you're not wrong in the least. Hard-hitting soul energy techniques are a known piece of the weapon throwing arts, just not the first thing a beginner learns, never mind performs."

"I'm no rookie," Locke sneered in mock offense, hand on hips. "Sure, I've been out of practice for three years, but these last couple weeks, a lot's been coming back to me. My touch hasn't waned as one might expect."

"True that," confirmed Ziegfried. "But when you had magic at your disposal, did you ever use throwing weapons in such a manner?"

Locke said nothing. He just tugged at his collar. "No you didn't." It was Celes who answered for him, reading my mind and taking the words right from my mouth.

"My assessment was correct. You'd have tried something like that if such were the case. However, you're obviously interested in learning such techniques, and we've the perfect target." The Olistes champion pointed at the far wall, in front of which sat a very familiar chunk of frozen meat, covered in armored plate scraps from a magitek walker. I'd not significantly damaged it when practicing my Dragoon skills, and had it placed in frozen storage for later use.

Locke faced the distant pile of armored icy meat, taking a thrower's stance with his discus. "And I'm doing what now?"

"Concentrate. Just as you focus your will into the blade, you must do that even more this time. The weapon will glow if you do it right. Just try for that much."

"Alright. Here goes." Locke made some lateral motions with the discus in hand. Five motions later, nothing had changed. "I'm getting nowhere fast."

"I had a similar issue when warming up for the Dragoon Lance techniques," I offered, hoping this would give Locke a reference point. His problem was similar to the one I faced. "It takes more focus, especially when you're new to it, and I don't believe there's a relic that increases one's skill with the discus/boomerang weapon style." Even with my Dragoon boots, I'd had some trouble getting the soul energy charged. Locke didn't have anything to boost his talent here.

"A correct thought Edgar, to the best of my knowledge. If there's a talisman or piece of armor that aides one in this weapon class, even I'm oblivious to it," confessed Ziegfried. He sounded a little ashamed to lack such knowledge, being a navy veteran, mercenary, and career gladiator all in one.

"There was a headband mask I once used. It was called 'Sniper Sight' on the market. It enhanced vision and allowed for much more precise accuracy with long-ranged weapons, but it did nothing to enhance the weapon itself." Locke referenced another of his old favorite relics. Useful as it had been, Sniper Sight wouldn't help him execute this practice in question. He did more horizontal tossing motions without releasing the discus. "Still nothing. Ziegfried?"

"Think only of the weapon in your hand," advised the champion. "Know what it is, and what it can do. Furthermore, know what _you_ can accomplish." For a man who claimed no experience in training others, he was doing an-above average job. His words and voice tone could fool the uninformed to believe he was a professional weapons instructor.

Locke twirled the discus ring on his finger again, flinging it up a few inches and catching it. He continued twirling the discus while moving his hand from side to side, before gauging the frozen pile of meat and armor once again. The discus wasn't glowing. "Damn. I figured as much, but it's just a first time, so what should I expect?"

"It will happen as you try more frequently. This lack of results should come as no surprise," Ziegfried said with reassurance. "In the meantime, I'm interested in your close combat skills. I presume you've a piece for such?"

Locke stashed his discus ring in a belt pouch and unsheathed his survival knife. It wasn't even a third the length of Ziegfried's long sword. "Does this count?" He asked. "You know, all that failed concentration has me a tad restless. I could use a break."

"Very well. You know your limits better than I. Celes." Ziegfried beckoned to the ex-General. "You're up."

The blonde woman drew her Strato blade and assumed a stance. As long sword met Strato, Locke took a seat next to mine. "Edgar, I've been meaning to ask you something that I've been thinking about as of recent."

Celes was doing basic warm-ups and parrying drills at the moment, nothing special that demanded my full attention. "What's up?"

He observed the blonde swordswoman. "Watching Celes do her swordplay has reminded me of what she did for Relm in Fondanin. So I ask, what's transpired there since Joe gave his inquiry."

I'd not considered Fondanin for quite some time now. If Yves was alive, his condition would likely remain undisclosed. The last time I'd contacted the Jidooran city-state was right before Ziegfried visited this town and offered his services. "There's not much else to say. The gang activity remains minimal, all missing persons from that day were later found deceased in Zozo, and Yves's fate has not been publicized. The damages have been repaired, and people are moving on with their lives, but nothing else has gone down since. I can just be grateful the gangs are out the picture for now."

"Yeah," mumbled Locke. "At least one good thing came out of the parade assault."

With nothing more to say on the topic of Fondanin, I resumed watching Celes and Ziegfried spar. Moments later, a woman's voice called my name. "You wanted to speak with me, King Edgar?"

I stood up and faced the woman. She wore a brown robe, and her dark brown hair was bundled into a topknot. She was a banker from the Reservoir Guild, the very person I needed to speak with regarding money distribution for the enhanced water system. "Yes, I do. Locke, if you'll excuse me." The treasure hunter waved passively, more interested in the sparring demo.

I'd left a message with the Guild, telling them I could be found here. The woman tracked me down upon receiving it. She followed me to an empty corner of the training hall. "My wife says the tax money for the pipe construction's next phase hasn't been collected in full."

"That is true, My Liege." The Guild Banker frowned subtly. "However, it's mostly been collected. We've well over three quarters of the required fee, though at least ten percent remains unaccounted for."

"That's…some encouraging news. It's a worthy sum, even if it's incomplete." I scratched my chin and put this news into perspective. "If you collected that much, it should only be a matter of time before you acquire the rest, right?"

"That is correct. However, is time a consideration?" asked the Banker. "If I'm accurate, you want this plumbing project completed by summer. It's almost spring." Her brown eyes stared at me, blinking once. "Time is not an asset. Too much could pass before we procure all the necessary tax funds. With the current delay in money acquisition, the project is already running behind schedule."

Spring would officially start in less than a week. That meant warmer temperatures, which would only increase in the coming months. This was a desert town. Too little water during that season would spell disaster. Heat waves would devastate crops and livestock, and that was before considering water used by the public just to stay cool. Figaro City was a marvel of technological progress, but it was hardly immune to the forces of its natural surroundings. As King, I had to know and respect this fact, even if the general public remained happily oblivious to it.

"Do you wish to postpone the construction until we receive the money?" I couldn't ignore the Guild Banker's question. But how was I supposed to answer it? Which answer was right? There were only two, but each presented a dilemma. Waiting to collect all the tax funds would cause the plumbing to fall drastically behind.

I addressed the present issue. "We can't wait, we just _can't._ Water needs will multiply as the summer begins, and only the improved plumbing system can feed such a demand."

"You wish to resume construction without the mandatory funds? It's a gallant effort King Edgar, but how do you propose to accomplish such?" Her question said it all. Postponement wasn't an option. What mattered was how I'd maintain steady progress before receiving the full tax funds.

I bit my lip, knowing full well my burdensome duties as the King of Figaro. Without me, this town would shrivel up in dry spell. Depopulation was only the best case scenario. I was King, but I was only human. Even if my subjects viewed me as a dragon-slaying, magic-knowing, world-travelling legend of timeless stature, this didn't change the humble fact that I was, deep down, no more superior than them.

But I could not reveal this, not with a million people to consider in this capital alone. The plumbing progress meant everything. Only after it was complete could we allow for dust to settle. That gave me an idea, the only practical solution, and my last alternative in this paradox. "Use the money you've attained so far. The difference will be covered later on. This is one major I-owe-you, but after the piping upgrade reaches throughout the town, business should thrive, and there should be no problems in funding the bill after the fact."

"Back pay, in a rather huge quantity. But if that is your decision, the Guild will carry it out. Consider yourself lucky to have a reputation as you do. The workers will accept the back pay idea only because of your endeavors from years past." The woman endorsed my decision, and endorsed me as a person, not just as King. "Have you any other questions for me?"

"Not at the moment. Thank you for all you've done. Keep it up." At my words, the Guild Banker departed. She believed in me, and I needed such faith now. I could only hope that she was right in regards to the construction crews, how they'd trust me enough to get the job done even before the tax money was collected.

But the real underlying question remained; how come it was taking so long to fund the work bill? Until now, tax money had been received at a steady rate. Why had the rate of acquisition suddenly dropped?

Celes and Ziegfried continued their drill, with Locke observing at the sides. I sat down next to him, and he once again wanted my ear. "There's something else that's been eating me as of late. Last time we saw Joe, he talked about touring Narshe with Leonard. He mentioned a visit to the moogle mines."

"Ah, to acquaint himself with Mog and Umaro, no doubt." I watched the swordplay exercise while listening to him.

Locke sat up. "Well…that's the twist. He only met Mog. He said Umaro was caged for work-related incompetence, and that Mog was behaving like some authoritarian who actually took pride in dishing out the punishment. Needless to say, there's a rift between moogle and yeti."

I averted my eyes from the blade clashes to face Locke. His expression was sincere. "Have you spoken with Terra or Leonard about this? Living in Narshe, they ought to know something, especially since Leonard was there with Joe, and would likely inform Terra of such finds."

The ringing of blades persisted as Locke shrugged. "I've not been to Narshe in a while. I was planning on a visit to ascertain this for myself, but the distance between there and Quildern isn't something to take lightly. Plus, we don't have that many days off this time of year. We're lucky we could both make this demo session."

I'd first heard about Umaro's negligence from Terra. That was back on the day of Lone Wolf's killing spree at Dragon's Neck Coliseum, and the subsequent skirmish with Ultros and Chopun. The former two destroyed the engines and sent the Falcon crashing into the sea. After the landing, we all gathered in a towing vessel to haul in the crippled airship. A discussion of talking monsters came up, and Umaro was mentioned as one example. Leonard and Terra both spoke of tensions between the moogle and the yeti. Back then, I paid it little attention. But hearing that such unrest had escalated since, I couldn't casually brush it off as normal.

Someone had to go back to the caves and inquire about this drawn-out tension between our two companions.

A different kind of ping sound filled the room. The Strato clanked to the floor several feet away from Celes. Ziegfried had disarmed the ex-General, but Celes didn't run to pick up her piece. "Now think of the weapon, and its connection to yourself." Ziegfried aimed his own blade at the fallen Strato. "Connect to the weapon, and it will find your grasp."

This was part of the practice exercise, the means to retrieve a weapon that had been knocked from one's hand. Ziegfried once demonstrated it when Paul Edderbricht disarmed him with a pole mace.

Celes reached out for her Strato. "Does this work just like those throwing blade techniques? This is a totally different weapon class."

"The sword will come back if you focus hard enough, should you lose it accidentally. However, intentionally throwing the sword will not allow for use of this technique," clarified the gladiator. "It's very different from the boomerang/discus technique, as far as usage goes. The need for concentration is very similar however."

"Concentration seems like the heart of all these weapon and soul charge techniques." Celes spread her fingers at the fallen sword. "But that makes sense. Here goes." She took a deep breath and flexed her hand. The sword actually quivered, but only for a second or two. It somehow responded to her mental command, but not enough to make a difference.

"It's something," commended Ziegfried. "Try again. You've got the basic first step."

The ex-Imperial reached for the Strato. Her finger shook as she focused her energy toward her stray weapon. The Strato finally did something. It skidded toward her at a slow pace, stopping after a yard or so. "Damn it," groaned Celes. "I'm getting dizzy." She gave up and walked over to her weapon.

"It's not something you pull off naturally at first." Ziegfried sheathed his own sword and folded his arms. "Even I had issues when I first started. And you're not the only one." He gazed at Locke and me. "Practice makes perfect."

Steal rang out as Celes placed her sword in its respective casing. "Those throw weapon techniques. Do they work with smaller ninja weapons?"

Ziegfried adjusted his spiked gauntlet. "You must mean ninja stars and throwing dirks. No. Those weapons are too small to facilitate soul energy charges. Why do you ask?"

"Relm Arrowny from our circle has a knack for such weapons," Celes pointed out. "She recently used that talent to help me in Fondanin, when Zozoan gangs ambushed a parade. I'd been knocked to the ground, and Relm hit my opponent in the neck with a small throwing knife."

"The girl takes after her father in that aspect." The gladiator fastened buckles on his other glove.

"Ironic, if not bizarre," stated Locke. "She detests him so much, you'd think she'd force herself to differ from him in every way possible."

Celes agreed. "Yeah, it's a little confusing. But it got us out of a jam when we needed it. This is a fascinating point. I'll look for Relm and ask her about the ninja weapons. My curiosity's been raised."

"Ah, girl talk answers all," I joked. Relm and Celes had grown quite fond of each other's talents, and their experience in Fondanin only served to strengthen that bond.

"Train well," advised the champ of Dragon's Neck. "I look forward to our next session together. Until then, I must be off."

"Take care." Locke waved as Ziegfried left our presence. "Speaking of which, we should also be going." He tapped Celes's arm gently.

"Right." She grabbed her jacket from a nearby rack and pulled it on. "Thank you for having us Edgar. I'll be sure to practice and impress Ziegfried next time we meet. If you see Relm, tell her I want another chat."

"Will do." I watched the couple leave the training room. Suppertime was at hand, but dinner wasn't the only subject on my thoughts. There was nothing new with Fondanin, and I'd already dealt with the issue of plumbing tax inadequacy, but this clash between Mog and Umaro wouldn't leave my mind. With all my business however, a visit to Narshe's mines was out of the question…for me.

_change in s & n_

Word travelled fast through our close-knit circle. Leonard told me of his visit to the moogle mines with Joe, and it was expected that Joe would likewise inform others of that excursion. He'd mentioned it to Celes and Locke, who informed Edgar in turn.

Naturally, the King was curious on the matter. The falling-out between Mog and Umaro was unsettling to him, as it was to Leonard and me. Edgar's telegraph message was simple. He wasn't available to inquire himself, and thus requested that Leonard or I pay another visit to the mines in the Verdsanath District. Leonard was working today, but I had neither sitting jobs nor blitz sessions. I was appointed for the visit.

The train stopped in Narshe's southwestern district, and I departed for the moogles' cave. The walk from the train platform to the mine entrance was short, and my thoughts raced as I rounded each street corner. Tension between teammates was always disheartening. We Returners looked out for one another countless times.

We were a team, and even in times of prosperity, it was important to function like one.

Entry into the moogle caves went as planned. Just as I knew my way to the mines, I knew their layout and moved freely around the public areas. But once inside a darkened chamber of the processing zone, the unexpected came.

"Stay where you are!"

I froze on instinct. The room was mostly cast in shadows. Much of the lighting came from neighboring hallways. The darkness didn't mask me however, unless the voice was addressing someone else. I didn't presume such though.

"Step slowly into the light where I can see you."

The voice was shrill, and familiar. It was clearly a talking moogle issuing the directive, but why the urgency. "Mog? It's me, Terra."

Suddenly, the room's lanterns flared to life, illuminating the whole room. A group of armed moogles stood in one of the doorways, one of them reaching up at the light switch. The group was chattering, until one emerged between the spear and mace carriers up front. "Oh, it's just you." Mog dismissed the others. "Sorry about that."

I sat on a work bench as the lead moogle flapped his wings and floated over. "What gives?" I asked. "You seem a little edgy." Did his mood relate to Umaro at all?

Mog sat down on the long bench with me. "Kupo. We've been a tad hyped since last week. Someone made it past the public area and into the restricted area, and we knew nothing of it until after the fact."

"A trespasser?" It was the only logical conclusion.

"Not exactly. Far from it, ironically enough." Mog leaned to the side. Apparently, my guess had been way off. "In fact, it wasn't intentional."

"Huh? How can you be certain?" For the moment, Umaro was an afterthought.

"It was Joe," answered Mog "and he was looking for me. When he and Leonard first stopped by, Joe asked about Narshe's jewelry market. I said I'd get back to him if there was a chance. He simply stopped by to follow up."

I dropped my jaw. "Than…why'd you get so panicked? You know him, and he did have a reason to be here."

"Because he wandered quite deep into the restricted zone, all without trying. If he can bypass our security by accident, what'll happen if some deliberate intruder wants inside?" Mog twiddled his feet as they hung over the bench's edge. "If Koimga hadn't forgotten her toolbox and left to retrieve it, we'd never have found Joe in the restricted area. Just as he coincidentally wandered in, we coincidentally found him."

That explained why the moogles acted more high-strung than usual. Often, I was greeted when I entered this cave, not given orders to halt in my tracks. This had been a first. "So what happened once they found him?"

"I was called. He'd asked for me, and explained himself. I was shocked he'd gotten so far into the private area without us knowing, but relieved at the same time. He said he was looking for me. He was startled, as he didn't realize he was out of public bounds. Needless to say, he was very apologetic." The moogle rubbed his forehead. "I still don't get how he slipped by the security, without either us of knowing it."

"Had someone fallen asleep on watch duty or failed to lock up a gate or two?" I inquired.

"If so, no one's owned up to it," sighed Mog. "Once we escorted him back outside, I checked in with each moogle on duty at the time. None of them noticed anything suspicious. Locks were secure, code-activated ladders and bridges were still off, all was like it should be." He was quiet for a couple seconds. "Truth be told, we have been overworked as of late, Kupo. Maybe the strain is beginning to show itself."

"Overworked?" Did this relate to Umaro?

Mog faced me, my reflection showing in his black eyes. "I'm sure you've heard from Leonard or Joe about Umaro's laziness."

"Yes, Leonard spoke about it. He was quite disturbed." Now I could discuss my reason for coming here. "In fact, I'm also curious. That's why I'm here. Are you strained because of him?"

"Indirectly, you could say. We no longer have to clean up the messes he forgot, but we're still pulling his load of the work. Of course, we can use our dances to get his job done faster, so time isn't really a concern. It's just that our standard tasks require so much effort, added concentration for the mundane tasks is very annoying. It should be Umaro who does simple things like cleaning the tool heads and washing the floors in the piston rooms, but he can't even do that right. We gave him all the tools and everything." Mog threw his hands up in aggravation. "As if our duties weren't demanding enough, now we must compensate for him."

"Leonard quoted you as saying Umaro is locked in confinement. Is this true?" I wasn't doubting such, but I wished to hear Mog's own words.

"Kupo. After such incompetence, I'm _very_ uneasy with letting him loose. He posed a danger to others, and ultimately to himself. Spills are a slipping hazard, clogged piping ducts can explode, you get the picture. He needs to smarten up, and being locked away like so will not be forgotten, even by him." His voice had taken that sharp, condescending edge. Someone on a power trip would speak in a similar tone.

It was true, and then some. Hearing it secondhand from Leonard was upsetting enough, hearing it for myself was something else entirely. How long would this last? Mog wasn't planning to keep Umaro caged indefinitely, I hoped. "You'll release him eventually, right?" My voice lacked certainty.

"When he gets the point. I'm letting him stew for a while." Mog folded his arms. "I thought his extra muscle would prove useful here in the business mines. It seems I was a horrible judge of his character."

"If you claim such, why even cage him? Why not let Umaro return to the mountainside cave at the town's north end?" Mog's method of punishment didn't feel rational. "If Umaro can't work up to par in these mines, why not let him go? Caging him might not help. What'll he learn from it?"

The irate moogle looked over his shoulder, toward the north. "At one point, I would've let him go back to the north cavern, but he already knows about this machinery and what not. If I let him go, he'll just come back, and make an even bigger mess. He must learn what is and what is not acceptable. He's not as dumb as you may believe. Terra, I know him better than you, just like I know the business practice of this mine." He curled his lip and grit his pointed teeth. "Think what you wish, but _don't_ question me on dealing with Umaro."

I leaned back. Mog's defensive, snappish reply caught me off guard. "I…I don't mean to undermine your knowledge of the Mining Guild's business procedures. I just think you might be going too harsh on the yeti. He's larger than a man, but mentally on par with a child. He can't know everything, and certainly won't compare with you."

"I'm not comparing him to me, I'm just comparing him to the common knowledge." Chattering from other moogles filled the chamber. "Terra, give me a sec." Mog jumped off the bench and joined a group down the hall. A moment later, he stormed back to me, scowling. "As I said before, we're working overtime, since Umaro can barely wipe his own ass. One of the ore crushers broke down, and we have to go fix it. I'd talk more, but thanks to Umaro, my paws are tied here." There he was impulsively blaming Umaro again. "And don't say it's not his fault."

"I didn't say that Mog, I didn't even think it. I know you're under much pressure, and have no idea when it will subside." My words did little more than justify Mog's attitude. It wasn't my intention at all, but I was at loss for what to say in the moment.

"I'm glad you understand. Well, I'm off again. Stop by if you so choose, but realize I probably won't be around that much. Kupokupo, take care." Mog flapped his wings and flew out of the chamber. I watched him push open some double doors, and watched some more until they closed after him.

"But Mog," I said to no one "I…don't…understand." Umaro showed no incompetence when fighting the hordes of Kefka.

_change in s & n_

"How much further?" I asked the Corporal as we strode through this downtown part of Tzen.

"Not much," said Ambrose. Normally, the chocobo wagons could shuttle us to our destination, but on this day with all the crowds, the coaches were running behind schedule. We had to walk from the train stop.

Earlier in the week, there was an incident. Jim and Baokiydu heard military brass discussing such at the factory. The brass didn't reveal much, but something had gone down in the Tzenish city of Nadreloitt. A public speech was scheduled to disclose the matter. Jim and Baokiydu had factory jobs to consider, so Ambrose and I would attend.

Massive lines of people crowded the sidewalks, a parade of pedestrians, likely sharing our point of interested. The newspaper had set this date, time, and place for the public disclosure. We joined the crowds en route to the municipal building in the Nausetine District.

Five minutes, three cross streets, and several blocks later, we arrived. The front steps of the building were heavily guarded. A wall of tower shields was placed before the bottom step, each wielded by an armored infantryman. In the gaps between the shields, long spears with barbed tips extended forward. To reinforce the ground troops, two siege armors stood behind the shield line. These units were not equipped with the energy charge photon cannons. Those were meant for attacking large targets, such as vehicles and stationary fortifications. Their slow charge rate and limited reach made them vulnerable to smaller, mobile targets, as Jim once pointed out. The present armor units carried the six-barreled cannons that fired metallic orbs using a spring mechanism, the exact same artillery pieces used against us down in the Kavaryts Basin. I cringed, but subtly. Out in public, I made every effort to blend in. And yes, I wore that fucking baggy traveler's cape. I hoped its days of use were numbered.

Atop the stairs behind the defense of shield wall and cannon artillery was the podium. Loudspeakers were placed on either side of the stairwell, nearly twice the height of the average person. The crowd settled in as more and more townspeople arrived. Ambrose and I elbowed our way to the front for a clear view, but didn't get too close to the wall of shields and spear blades. Various decorated military officers stood behind the podium, but none of them took the microphone. That duty was performed by a robed man with a rounded face and graying beard. To me, he was just another politician.

But Ambrose showed a deep interest in the man. "I'll be damned. It's him. He's still alive."

"Who?" I asked in a guarded voice. There was plenty of background chit chat from the gathered citizens. I leaned closer to the Corporal. "The bearded guy with the round face? What's so special with him?" Ambrose hadn't shown such interest in figures of Tzen's government before. He despised the House, but this fascination was definitely not hatred.

"You know about the ACOS right, the Appointed Cabinet of Secretaries?" said Ambrose into my ear.

"Yes. They're sometimes called 'those beneath the House' because they serve directly under the royal family." I knew that much of Tzenish politics.

"Right. Well see the man at the mic?" He referred to the man with the spherical face. "His name is Iradmiud Gorukean, and he's the leading Minister of that Cabinet."

I deliberately whispered into the Corporal's ear. "So? What makes him any different from the House's other brown-nosers?"

This was another rare instance where the stoic Corporal grinned with sincerity. "He might not be one."

Life can be full of surprises. This was one. The Tzenish-born Corporal suggested a key figure in Tzen's government was not a lackey to the ruling House. This was definitely a first. There was a story to tell, I knew that from the way Ambrose held that smile. The Minister was exchanging words with the officers and organizing his note sheets. A glance at my watch revealed the time, 10:50 am, ten minute before the speech was scheduled to begin. That was enough time for Ambrose to discuss Gorukean's history. "Okay, you grew up in this city-state. Tell me all."

"Twelve years ago, once the Empire made its conquest of Tzen official and set up House Virnone as its local arm, the Cabinet Minister was Valatir Hemsand."

I squinted in confusion. "A dozen years ago? Are you older than you look, or have been studying politics since your childhood?"

Ambrose shrugged. "I'm only twenty-one. Most of what I'll tell you is stuff I learned after the fact, but there were some things I recall from that time. My father had saved newspapers from those days, and it was hot talk among my school teachers. My history teacher even worked into a lesson."

"Ah. Got it. And here I thought you'd been a nine-year-old scholar." I giggled, and let him continue.

"Once House Virnone became the local government, they spoke ill of Minister Hemsand. They thought of him as 'improper' and 'too modernized' for the nation's greater good." Ambrose verbally stressed the descriptions, emphasizing he was merely quoting stuff he vehemently disagreed with. "Whether Hemsand was really screwing up or just not abiding by the House's personal taste was never confirmed, but the House was not happy with him. Shortly after a highly-public reprimanding of Hemsand, he collapsed and died at an orchard festival, supposedly from a heart attack."

"Right," I snickered. A Cabinet Minister dies from natural causes right after getting browbeaten by his superiors, a backstabbing noble House that sells its own nation out to a greedy tyrannical empire. True story…my fucking ass.

"I remember the vigil for Hemsand. My school was closed that day, and thousands took to the streets in the procession. We viewed it from our fourth-floor apartment windows." Ambrose kept his eyes on the Minister at the podium. "After that, Iradmiud Gorukean, who was then Secretary of Finance, was promoted to the Cabinet Minister position, as the House was generally impressed with his record and business skills."

I watched Gorukean converse with the army brass. "If that's true, why would Gorukean not kiss ass? They promoted him, so he's got every reason to kiss up."

"It was publically declared a promotion. However, rumors claimed he was strong-armed into the Minister role after threats against his family," clarified Ambrose. "Supposedly, that's been the leash on Gorukean's neck for the last twelve years. He's still around, still a pawn of House control."

This was a revelation. If the rumors were true, Gorukean would harbor grudges and resentments against the House, but only if they were true. We'd have to ascertain such allegations for ourselves.

The Cabinet Minster shuffled his notes and tapped the microphone. Thud sounds burst through the speakers, silencing the crowd. "Good morning. I have called this press speech to explain a recent occurrence in one of our garrison towns. As some of you may know, there was an event four days ago at our western border, in the city of Nadreloitt. Some covert operatives from Maranda's army breached Nadreloitt's defenses."

Curses and gasps erupted from the crowd. Cameras flashed and random questions were hurled at the Minister. Maranda's army had been decimated by the forces of Tzen during their last clash, and the victorious Tzenish army headed for Albrook soon after. But the Duke's army wasn't down and out quite yet. Gorukean embellished the recent clash.

"Although Marandan forces did not pass beyond Nadreloitt, the casualties they inflicted are worth noting. Among the more famous of our troopers killed were Major Arnes and Captain Worlingston. In response to this latest threat, we have pulled 25,000 men from this town to reinforce the Nadreloitt garrison. From what we've learned, it's clear the Duke plans to follow up that strike. We must anticipate such, and prepare accordingly." More questions were asked in rapid succession. The Minister sorted his notes before speaking again. "This possibility had been discussed, but we can say with absolute certainty there is no connection between the recent invasion of Nadreloitt and the fires at the Elporviran Field last week."

Sighs of relief came from the gathered audience. I gazed at the Corporal, who gazed back. The Tzenish Minister was telling the truth on this one. Maranda played no role in the Elporviran fires. In fact, it sounded like Elporviran was taking a back seat to the Nadreloitt skirmish. 25,000 troops hadn't been dispatched to investigate the airship port disaster. Still, I wasn't so hasty to believe House Virnone would look totally outward and place fewer eyes within this town. And there was another issue the House would surely consider, something which unfolded outside this capital.

I was correct in presuming this would come up. Cabinet Minister Gorukean flipped through his notes again, and began speaking of this topic. "Many other questions have arisen concerning the brigade led by General Aelchass, which vanished just into the Kavaryts Lowlands." A person from the brass emerged behind the Minister. I presumed this was a male military officer, but a more concentrated look revealed this armored military person was female. She wore slivery plate armor on her entire upper body, gloved gauntlets that went from fingers to biceps, large shoulder plates, and an even larger chest plate that covered up her neck. The shoulders and cuirass looked a few sizes too big for this woman, but she carried herself with seriousness and authority.

This was the first lady General of House Virnone's military, the one Jim told us about, Janice Vellanois.

A dark red cape and long red dress flowed behind the woman as she approached the speaking Minister. Her wavy, dark gold hair locks hung down to chest level, and a scar was etched across her left cheek. The moment she stepped behind the Minister, he froze, holding a neutral face, until he spoke up in drastically different tone. "I will allow General Vellanois to speak regarding the lost brigade." He stepped aside and pulled back, the General watching him with a stale face. Only after he distanced himself from the General did his own face relax.

It was not glaringly obvious, but I had the attention to pick it up. Gorukean's change of tone when Vellanois approached him didn't feel natural. This implied something. Ambrose noticed as well.

The female commander resumed the speech where the Minister left off. "The disappearance of Aelchass and his brigade will not be overlooked, despite the recent activity in Nadreloitt." She was decidedly female in appearance, but her voice was rather low and quite androgynous. "The last we heard from Aelchass's company, they'd just entered the Kavaryts Lowlands immediately south of Culmstropp. This matter will be acknowledged, just as we're dealing with the Nadreloitt breach. For now, it's too early to say if there's any connection between the recent attack and the brigade's disappearance."

The crowd burst into a barrage of questions once more. Using the background noise for cover, I leaned near Ambrose to share my thoughts. "Next time we get on the radio with Albrook, we'll be giving one hell of an update."

"No shit." He looked atop the stairs at the Cabinet Minister. "Something tells me Gorukean is not on friendly grounds with Tzen's army. He appeared so tense when Vellanois stood behind him."

"You think he would oppose the House if given the chance?" I asked, theorizing.

"I'm not sure, but we should mention this to HQ come the first opportunity. We need to brief them on possible measures regarding that brigade." He shifted his eyes to the woman at the podium. "General Vellanois specifically mentioned a response to that."

The General continued her speech. "Given the deployment of 25,000 to Nadreloitt, the missing brigade, and the continued migration of refugees towards this capital, there are a few thousand new openings within the military, for those wanting to enlist."

The crowd began cheering, not with a single chant, but a single unifying theme. I could hear 'Glory to the House' and 'Just like the Empire' amid various other samples of blind ass-kissing. "Great," I muttered "More lemmings to eventually hunt down and slay." Despite this annoyance, it came as no surprise. Tzenish women were judged based upon their child-bearing capacities, so they could breed the next generation of soldiers. That was precisely how the late Imperials amassed such a gigantic army. The Empire was dead, but its worshippers steadfast maintained its tradition.

"Nonetheless, we've learned plenty." I had no doubt that Ambrose was sickened, but he masked it, instead mentioning all the facts we'd learned at this press conference. "Maranda still functions, Gorukean may not be comfortable with the House bearing down on him, more civilians are joining the herd of military sheep, and there's a plan to investigate that missing brigade. And don't forget the Elporviran chat. There could be something amiss with Brofias." Ambrose glanced back at the Cabinet Minister. "I wonder if Gorukean knows what it is."

The rest of the public speech yielded nothing of interest. We left as the female General returned the mic to Gorukean (who wouldn't look at her as he moved towards the speaker podium) so he could discuss local economic happenings. The nearby streets were almost void of people, as most of them were at the conference. We could talk in less hushed tones. "With Maranda still active, the House can't use all its resources to investigate that brigade lost in the Kavaryts region. Most of their efforts seem focused on defending Nadreloitt, though I'm taking Vellanois's word with less than a grain of salt." I glanced around. As I presumed, no one but Ambrose could hear me. "But the higher-ups gotta be truthful at some point, or else the public would cease buying into their lies."

"Indeed." He fingered his chin in deep thought. "But the facial exchanges between Gorukean and Vellanois didn't look false. That Vellanois commandeered the podium is suggestive on its own. Why didn't she permit Gorukean to speak on the brigade matter? There's a reason." Despite the absence of pedestrians, the Corporal was no less mindful to control his voice volume, keeping the good habit.

"What comes next, after we brief HQ? We still need to ascertain these Brofias rumors by getting into high society." The soldiers' talk from Elporviran's bathroom was still fresh in my mind.

"We've additional rumors to confirm or deny regarding Minister Gorukean, who's quite the member of high society." A chocobo carriage passed us going in the opposite direction, en route to the press conference. The Corporal resumed his verbalized thoughts once it passed. "It's all a matter of getting close to him. Let's mull it over with our company at dinnertime. Perhaps Baokydu's listened in on something important, and I've no doubts of Jim's insider knowledge."

_change in s & n_

Sabin's dojo had initially been established for blitz trainees, but it was always open for other purposes, to us Returners at least. My curiosity about Relm's use of the ninja arts arose with the best possible timing. She'd been using such arts in the dojo as she waited around for Gau. My interest coincided with her urge to show off. Locke was managing our vending stall on his own, allowing me to entertain this interest.

The teenage girl stood before a burlap dummy. The training target was hardly fresh; it bore numerous stitching marks and patches. A wooden box of small throwing weapons lay next to Relm. "You watching Celes? Here I go."

I couldn't resist a smile. Relm had a knack for instilling humor in those around her. "Of course I'm watching. I didn't come here to admire the décor, and you saved my ass with such talents back in Fondanin."

She said nothing, but pulled two dirks from the box, one in each hand. She reached back with her right, and stepped forward. Her throwing movements weren't much different from Locke's with the boomerangs and discus blades, except Relm's were shorter and a tad quicker, given the smaller size of the dirk.

The blade didn't spin, but glided straight, point facing forward the whole time. Its tip pierced the dummy's breastbone region. The dirk would've completely entered its target, had its short, think handle not prevented such. However, the entirely of its blade had gone inside.

"And in case you're wondering, I'm quite ambo-dexterous." She held up the dirk in her left hand and flung it forward. It nailed the dummy in its stomach region.

"Your aim is no doubt impressive, but those aren't kill shots," I stated. "The dirks aren't piercing deep enough to cause anything beyond flesh wounds."

"That was a mere warm-up." Relm grabbed two ninja stars from the box. "Check this." With a pointed star in each hand, she tossed them in unison. They both struck the dummy just above the clavicles.

"Now that's more like it," I cheered. "If you get the enemy in the neck and throat, you pierce major blood vessels and they go down in seconds, if not instantly. However, this dummy is not equipped with armor, a common aspect to higher-level enemies."

"That can be arranged." A voice came from the dojo stairwell. It was Sabin, carrying a gold chest plate and matching helmet. The blitz master removed the dirks and ninja stars from the dummy's torso, covering its upper body region with the shiny plate cuirass. With the body armor in place, he added the helmet, fastening the buckle under the dummy's chin. "Now you really can show off those aiming talents."

"Go for the face," said Relm. "I got just the tool for a facial job." Another throwing weapon was pulled from the box, something I didn't expect. With magic void in this world, I figured this weapon class would be obsolete. Relm wielded a Thamasan mage rod, a metallic pole some twenty inches in length. But this rod was given a new touch. Its end was filed into a sharp tip. In essence, this mage rod had evolved into a miniature javelin.

"What do you think?" asked the young ninja-in-training.

"Waste not, want not," I answered. "That's resourcefulness. Modifying what you have so it becomes what you need."

"Remember, this dummy's inner head region is made from a hardwood sphere, to better simulate bone." Sabin patted the dummy's helmet. "It's got only two holes, where the eyes would be."

"And that's where this rod is going," boasted the teenager. She twirled the rod in her fingers before assuming a ready position. Relm gauged her target and let loose.

The rod sailed from her right hand, and in half a second, buried itself in the dummy's left eye socket. "Kill shot," announced Sabin. "A guaranteed one-hit takedown." He pulled it out. "But this was against a soft target. Try something with a bit more density. Gau."

The youth appeared from the stairs, carrying a thick, cylindrical wooden post. Cuts and dings of varied shapes and sizes littered the surface, telltale signs of previous use and abuse. The petrified tree in our backyard wasn't much different.

Gau set the post down next to the armored practice dummy. Sabin handed Relm the rod-spike, and she took another from the box. With both hands wielding the sharpened rods, the girl raised the weapons to shoulder level, leaning back, stepping forward, and throwing them simultaneously. Like arrows but with less velocity, the rods sped towards their mark. They both impacted the cylinder as one, embedding their tips into the wood.

Sabin reached for the closest one and pulled it out. He inspected the puncture hole with his finger, then placed his finger near the spike tip. "Over three inches of penetration. If you can do this with solid wood, you can easily pierce the facial bones of an enemy, a human enemy at least." He pulled out the remaining rod and handed them both to Relm. "I can see your throwing arm is in worthwhile shape."

"And I'm not even a body builder," Relm chuckled. Contagious as it was, the rest of us laughed too.

Sabin moved the armor dummy to the nearest corner while Gau picked up the wood pole and carried it back upstairs. "You know Celes, Edgar told me that you and Locke have been practicing over in Quildern," Sabin remarked. "He throws blades and you knock them back his way."

"That's one exercise we've been doing as of recent. I presume you wish to see it first hand." I grabbed my sheathed Strato from the nearby table.

. "In part, I do. Keep in mind, deflecting boomerangs and discuses can be a very different practice than blocking smaller, faster ninja projectiles." He glanced down at Relm, whose face lit up.

Gau Returned with two armor vests and a pair of plated masks, complete with neck guards. I now understood what Sabin was getting at. "You want Relm and I to test our skills against each other."

"When Relm said you'd be coming by, I decided to set up a little drill. The best way to hone your skills is to pit them against a variety of different talents." He folded his arms and winked, a quirk I'd seen from Edgar several times, a shared mannerism to both brothers.

I pulled on my vest and secured the mask. "I'm rather used to parrying hand-thrown weapons at this point." My voice was muffled, but audible.

"Is Relm used to aiming at mobile targets?" Sabin looked down at the teen girl, who offered no reply. "I didn't think so. Time for the next step of ninja practice."

She smiled and slipped on her respective gear. "Gotta start somewhere, then move somewhere else. This should be fun."

Relm stood in the middle of the dojo room with her box of throwing weapons. As per Sabin's instructions, I'd sidestep around her in circles. She'd aim for me, and I'd aim to block the weapons. With Gau and Sabin next to the dummy, we began the drill.

There was no pattern to my speed or direction. Sabin asked that I vary it up to keep Relm alert. I went in one direction, stopped, reversed my path, and stopped again. I'd either switch directions or resume the course. My pauses were varied as well. I'd stop for a half-second here, stop long enough for Relm to aim there, and complete a circle without stopping afterward.

I wasn't lightning quick, but I did keep a steady, swift pace around Relm. Her eyes were keen, and she caught on. Two dirks, both from the same hand, came my way. A quick swipe got one, then the next with two consecutive pings. Relm didn't let up. I moved again, and she tracked track my path. Another dirk came at me. I pushed it back with a downwards chop, only to have one more close in. I blocked it by kneeling and cutting upwards. I moved, with ninja stars on my trail. Their shape and spinning momentum gave them a speed advantage over the dirks. I swung faster to block the pointed disc-like blades.

Relm fixed her eyes on me as I resumed movement. She unleashed a flurry of shurikens, at least three from one hand. I parried one using an arched swing, but the next one clanged against my vest. Another one came, and I just barely pushed it away before the next one hit my mask between the transparent eye guards. As I'd blocked the first handful, she'd hurled the next. Star number five tagged my shoulder, and I barely managed to tag star six with my blade's broadside, swinging from my left.

I was back to moving, and Relm was back to using dirks, varying the drill on her end. This time, she threw them towards my naval region. Ducking beneath these was not an option. Gripping my sword in a vertical fashion, I pushed forward, my off hand pressed against the back side. One dirk was deflected, and I made out the next quickly enough to parry it sideways. A third one came just as the previous one bounced off my sword. This dirk nailed my mask in the chin. I could feel a tiny vibration of impact.

I moved once more. Relm threw high. I crouched and ducked it, and two more came at me from different angles. I pushed away the first, but my kneeling posture hampered mobility. I could barely register its distance before the last dirk hit my vest's diaphragm right in the center.

I stood ready, but Relm looked down the box passively. "Out of ammo," she announced, thus ending the drill.

I pulled off my mask and examined the chin. A very small ding was etched into the titanium surface, one of five successful hits by Relm. How'd she manage that? How'd I slip up? Sabin was right; blocking discs and boomerangs was vastly different from blocking ninja weapons. The latter practice was definitely something I wasn't used to.

The teenage girl was strutting around, laughing. "I got you Celes. I knew you'd crouch under a high toss and put yourself in a stationary posture. You can't spring or dash from a crouch."

She did anticipate me, driving me to kneel so she could toss more weapons and score a final hit once I'd limited my options of motion. But I was hardly embarrassed. To the contrary, I was quite impressed with the young girl's accuracy and talents. "In a real fight, such tactics can make the difference between life and death. I'll keep your trick in mind for next time. Ever heard of a sideways roll?"

"Well, if it's just another means of movement, I'll figure out a solution, sooner or later." She winked.

Between the four of us, we collected the weapons and placed them back in the wood crate. Gau took the protective gear along with the box and carried it back upstairs. Relm flexed her fingers. "It sucks we don't have any of those scroll weapons. Those kicked ass. You remember them, right?"

"I'll never forget," Sabin exclaimed. "Ninja scrolls saved us numerous times, when Shadow was present to use them. At times, they were the best non-magical competitor to my blitzes."

"And in this time of post-magic, they could still be around," I added, sheathing my sword. "But most stores that sold 'em no longer carry such. Too bad we've no idea where they originated." In all the time we'd purchased ninja scroll weapons, we'd never learned their exact point of origin. They were scrolls imbued with some ancient essences of nature, one more non-magical counterpart to conventional esper magic. Throwing one produced nothing less than spectacular results. Some would unleash a field of lightning bolts, others would cause a massive fiery explosion complete with fragmentation gravel, and a different kind was less offensive, bending light to make the user semi-invisible. Shadow used them along with standard throwing weapons, but we never questioned where they came from. We just appreciated their availability, which was no more.

"We've made due without such ninja tools for over three years," said Sabin proudly. "I'm sure we'll manage."

"I've no doubts to such," agreed Relm, "but it'd be great to learn where they came from."

I rested my sheath on my right shoulder. "I have a different question, and only you, Relm Arrowny, can answer it." Her twinkling eyes snapped to me. "For all the hatred you bear towards your father, it's quite ironic that you've taken his fighting style to heart. Why is this? Why emulate him if you think so ill of the man?"

Relm fingered her lip as she considered a reply. "Well, as I remember it, I took after his ninja arts _before_ learning who he really was. Even afterward, his talent saved us many times, as you surely know." Sabin and I nodded as one after exchanging a glance. "Plus, it's his only talent, his only redeeming feature. I'll diverge from him in all other aspects, but his weapon talents are respectable. He's a warrior to have alongside you on the battlefield, but nothing else. He's one shitty excuse for a parent." Relm's voice took a nasty edge. "I'll stop myself before I proceed further on this topic."

I looked down at my watch. "It's been fun, but I have a train to catch. Sabin, Relm, thank you for the exercise."

Sabin nodded. "Always. Come by when you can. My place is yours."

"Maybe next time I'll get only four hits against you instead of five," teased Relm.

"You'll have to _earn_ them." I waved good-bye and left the dojo. This drill was beneficial to us both. Sabin couldn't have been more precise. The best way to polish one's fighting skills is to test them against as many other skill types as possible. I could almost see the blood of the Shedairah monsters coating my blade.

_change in s & n_

A little research goes a long way. It certainly did in this case.

Reading the newspaper answered my question about local hotspots between my place and Leonard's. I checked a map and picked a section of town approximately between my place in Haggleston and his place in Brokmawer. A simple scan of the district revealed a place I'd never heard about, long-standing landmark if this neighborhood. Historical significance aside, this was among best places to meet with Leonard.

The Chulidion Art Gallery was among the oldest landmarks in the Thossiel District. At times, Thossiel was called 'Rasnayffe East' because it had a comparable artistic vibe to that western neighborhood. As such, it was home to many of the town's prominent painters, masons, sculptors, and the like. Shopping was a big thing in Thossiel, with big prices to match. Everything from simple roll-up rugs to elaborate wood and tile floor patterns cost a miniature fortune. However, the art gallery was more moderately priced, both for its gift shop and cafeteria.

We agreed on this day because we both had it off from our respective work. I only had a blitz session in the afternoon, and was free in the evening. The Chulidion Gallery sported an impressive menu to complement its displays. After one exploration, I was sold, and rode home to send Leonard a telegraph about the place. His reply came but minutes later, enthused.

I sat upon a bench near the front doors. The train from Brokmawer didn't stop right here, but it stopped relatively close. I could see the elevated tracks from my position. The train pulled up, stayed put for several minutes, and went on its westbound way. Something told me this was Leonard's ride.

My woman's intuition was on the money yet again. The Narshean-born miner-gone-farmhand appeared at the intersection just outside the gallery. I stood and waved as he crossed.

"I hope you didn't get bored waiting for me," he said upon arriving.

"Bored? Are you shitting me? Look." I pointed at the gallery's exterior masonry work. White stucco comprised the building skin, and plenty of stone carvings decked the frames of the windows and doors.

"So…shall we? You got me interested in this place. I've heard about it for years, but have never been. And who better to explore with than the perfect company?" Leonard's ambitious words spread to his gestures. Just as I'd hoped, he reached forward with his right hand. "We're together, so let's walk like such."

My heart raced, but I contained it in my face and voice. "You're such a mind reader Leonard." There was no holding back this time. I followed his example and took his outstretched palm. He squeezed, and I squeezed back. His hand was a bit calloused, probably from his years of wielding industrial tools at both Shedairah and Figaro Dairy Farms. Our hands remained locked as we climbed the low front stairs of Chulidion. Despite the time of day in this relatively cold mountain city, Leonard's hand was warm to the touch.

Chulidion's front lobby was covered in a wooden floor, the varnished planks arranged as to form repeating plus shapes. There was plenty to see, but our objective wasn't to stand hypnotized before murals and statues. There were facts to disclose. The creative environment of this art gallery felt like the ideal place for such.

As we passed a wall of mosaics, I set the ball in motion. "Leonard, do you remember our conversation at the farm, about the half-esper child?"

His eyes were on the composition of squared tiles, but his mind was definitely on the discussion. "How could I forget? It's not everyday you learn something like that."

His words betrayed excitement, but his voice tone was flat. "You don't seem all that enthusiastic to learn such a secret. I thought you'd feel a bit more…enlightened." I didn't speak in a critical tone, merely an observing one.

Between the walls of tile-based art came some huge works of pottery, each surrounded by transparent walls. We stopped at a four-foot high planter vase. "I don't see how discovering a human-esper bond affects my life. Sure, I know another juicy piece of trivia, but what's it supposed to do for me?" He read the planter's descriptive sign. "I mean, magic left this world along with espers more than three years back. It's quite irrelevant. The human-esper in question is likely dead, or at least void here in Sayitheren."

I forced back a giggle. This denial was expected. But now was the time. Leonard would be less ignorant. I took a deep breath and faced the man. "Oh? That's a realistic conclusion for the layman, but it could not be further from the truth. This person is very much alive and living in our world."

His eyes drifted from the sign to me. "Re…really? Damn. I never would've guessed that. How is that possible? It's the half-blood background, right?"

Clueless or not, he was getting the picture. "Now _that's_ a truth. You see, the human side was strongly attached to elements of this world, people specifically."

We proceeded through the art gallery. This next room showcased oil-based paintings and photographs. One wall in particular showed the same landscape from three different periods, before the great collapse, one year afterward, and one year after Kefka's death. This pictographic timeline was Leonard's next interest. He compared the three images before looking back at me. "Wait. You know him personally?"

"Her, actually. And yes, she's very close to the Returners as a whole." I contained myself as I spoke. I wanted to be as clear as possible so Leonard could grasp my every word. "In fact, it was through the Returners that she came to bond with people." Cautiously, I chose my exact words. "The Returners changed her life so significantly, they granted her the chance to live here in Sayitheren as a regular woman."

"Shit," was all Leonard could say before his mouth dropped open. "You people just have one hell of a network, within your circle and beyond. The King of Figaro, his blitz champion brother, the last of the Doman military commanders, and a guy with a privately-owned flying casino…out of commission right now. That's just _within_ the circle. Outside you've got a Narshean Senator, attitude problems aside, a Vardiggan noblewoman, and a half-esper, or former half-esper at least. Who's next?"

"Who knows?" I answered warmly. "In this post-Imperial world, what else is possible? For all I know, we could meet a whole new band of acquaintances tomorrow, or whenever, all without trying."

"They'll have to be pretty damn colorful to match the Returner variety," chuckled Leonard. "They'd best be up for a personality competition. My money's on the Returners."

So far, this was going like I wanted, and even better than I imagined. As we entered a display room full of wood carvings, Leonard popped the question. "So, after she was given a future on this world, what became of this half-esper? She had to do something?"

Again, while I was going down the desired path, I avoided dumping excess information into a single response. "She went into a secluded town, ruined by Kefka, to care for some orphans whose parents died in the great collapse. Their village was among the earliest global casualties. She stayed there for some weeks, until a man from Nikeah visited, a Navy Lieutenant who was uncle to some of the children. He said an adoption program was underway for the kids to live with extended families." Though talking about Mobliz once brought tears to my eyes, speaking of it today was no less casual than discussing the weather. Still, I was not prepared for Leonard's next words.

He paused alongside an ornate wooden bed frame. "No shit? You must be talking about Mobliz, and Project Hope."

"Project Hope?" Like everything I'd said, this too was honest. "How'd you know about Mobliz, and what is Project Hope."

I had a gut feeling what it had been. However, I allowed Leonard to explain in full. "Travelers aplenty spoke of Mobliz, and Project Hope was the charity established to build a shelter for the orphans awaiting adoption. Having grown up without a real parental figure, I felt obliged to make a difference." We resumed walking through the carpentry display hall. "There was a shitload of money in our family bank account, mostly inheritance my dad left for my brother and sister. However, my brother was killed in the great collapse, and my sister had run away from home years prior, so the money was pretty much unclaimed, until I stepped in. My dad was also a casualty of the apocalypse, and I was the only next of kin. I transferred the money to my account. It was a gratuitous sum. Goddesses only know what my old man would've done with it, nothing good, I can guess." His voice trailed off, but he picked up where he'd quit, after a deep breath. "I had more than I could spend, even after buying a place in Brokmawer. So guess what I did."

The wood room was almost behind us. We stood at the door to the gallery's central chamber. "You gave some alms to Project Hope?"

"A fraction of the money, but why not? Dad's ill-gotten fortune was used for a more noble cause. Those kids needed foster parents, and I couldn't possibly use _all_ that money, so why not make a difference and piss of my late father." Leonard smirked crudely. "If he's aware of happenings in this world post-mortem, I hope he knows what I did with that currency, and I equally hope he _despises_ me for it."

"Leonard…that was so sweet. Even with your selfish tendencies, you did something worthwhile, leaving a positive mark in the scarred, post-Palazzo world." My hand crept up his arm, with my fingers touching him just above the elbow.

All I could see was the man in my presence. The picture frames and furniture works behind Leonard became blurry. I never would've expected such a twist, not in a millennium. I'd just found out something new about Leonard. He helped fund the program to get the orphans out of their ruined village and find adoptive homes, the exact same event that led me to abandon Mobliz, migrate here to Narshe, and reevaluate my life. Three years later, my presence on that hillside prevented Leonard from dying. In all probability, I never would've been sitting on that mountain trail had I stayed in Mobliz, and Leonard would've died. Leonard Gurosawn had influenced my life three years before even knowing I existed, and that act allowed me to save him.

And he still knew nothing of it.

_change in n_

"Are you still with me?" I looked at Terra, but what had she been looking at? Her eyes appeared to zone out, as if trying to see something non-physical. Learning about my small act of charity from three years back couldn't have been that mesmerizing. I snapped my fingers inches before her face. "Terra? You okay?"

That did the trick. The green-haired woman came back to the real world. "Wow," she slurred. "You know, your little almsgiving should be enough to prove you're not such a bad person after all. Don't the locals know about what you did for Project Hope?"

It was a fair question, and her idea that my donation would earn me cred among the townsfolk was more than justified. However, the facts were hardly so. "I tried explaining that much. Responses were simply that I did so to earn trust that I could later exploit, or that I was making feeble attempts to cover up my real motives."

"Really? Honest aide is viewed as just another scheme of deception?" Terra withdrew her hand and let her shoulders droop. "After seeing you get it from that woman and Arvis, I can't honestly say I'm surprised. Some people go out of their way to mistrust."

I took her hand, intent on getting away from the negative. "Hey, that is true for some people, but it's not the case with you. With the silver lining of your trust, a trillion storm clouds would still be inadequate." No longer was I one to dwell on the pessimistic. Merely half a year ago, I couldn't let such a topic go lightly, but now it took only a sentence to brush it off and move on.

We left the carpentry display room and entered the main hall. On the other side of it was a stained glass gallery. I observed the various displays. A round window of a flowering lotus against a blue sky with pink highlights was the first piece we came across. Others included hands holding a book against a yellow sunburst backdrop, a shepherd with his flock against green hills, and a gull flying through a red and purple sky. Many of theses works resembled the windows in homes of the Verdsanath District…the closest neighborhood to the moogle mines.

The moogles. Edgar had sent Terra and me a telegraph, asking that someone pay a visit to the mining caves and check in regarding the Mog vs. Umaro affair. I sent a reply to them both saying I had work to do and that Terra should go when time allowed her such. Certainly enough time had passed for her to pay the visit.

She stood before a tall window displaying trees against the sunset. "So Terra, did you ever get to the moogle mines and ask about Umaro?"

The stained glass example was no longer her momentary interest. "Actually I did…and it didn't go as planned."

"What happened? Is the schism over?" Somehow I doubted it. Her face didn't look optimistic.

And her words expounded on that. "Mog refuses to let Umaro out of the cage, claiming the yeti will make messes and destroy products and equipment, or something along such lines. I questioned him, but he wouldn't let up. He even got defensive about me asking the questions, even though I wasn't trying to criticize. I just hope this is temporary. He said the moogles have been overworked, doing Umaro's tasks in his absence. There was also the security issue."

"Security issue? Is this another alleged fault of Umaro's?" If it was, Mog's disciplinary measures were fast becoming paranoid overkill.

"No, at least he didn't blame the yeti for that much." Terra walked over to observe a different piece of stained glass. "In fact, when I first arrived in the cave, Mog barked an order that I not move. After identifying myself, he relaxed and sent off his armed companions. You'll never guess what happened. Joe bypassed the security at the mine, accidentally if you can imagine it. He dropped in to look for Mog, and got past the guard patrols. He was found coincidentally by a moogle who was looking for her toolbox."

My knees almost buckled. I couldn't stop the laugh. "Joe slipped past the moogles' security patrol? Fuck. All by accident too?"

"Without effort, he pulled off a trick that Locke would contemplate in detail before trying. Not bad for an average…" she stopped "average Joe." It was her turn to laugh.

"Perhaps it should be expected. If the moogles are stresses and overworked, they'd slip up and not even realize it until sometime later." I pieced together what I'd learned about this conflict's latest toll on the mining moogles.

"I inquired on that as well. Mog said he and the others double-checked everything, and all was like it should've been, no broken locks or open hatches." Terra ran her finger along her eyebrow, as if pondering something. "I can only presume the overworked moogles just went soft at the precise moment Joe arrived."

"Damn. That's one hell of a feat on his part. I'll commend Joe, when I see him next." Though sarcastic, I wasn't critical of either party. Joe was clearly oblivious to where he strode, and the strained moogles could only do so much under the circumstances.

We left the subject on that note. Neither of us wished to think in excess about Mog and his questionable methods, and there was nothing more to add on the subject. There was much more to be seen in the stained glass exhibit hall. We walked about and sampled more artworks of colored, transparent glass. Then a low grumbling noise came from Terra's direction. I faced her and chuckled. "Too many beans for lunch?"

"That was my stomach. I'm getting hungry, and this place has a cafeteria." She pointed behind her, and not at the nearby glass compositions.

When a person says 'cafeteria', the first image that comes to mind is typically of a mess hall. But Chulidion's dining area was several steps above the eating room at the old Shedairah base. For one thing, the diner had a carpeted floor, black with tan lines that formed narrow diamond shapes, inside of which were orange almond shapes. An artistic carpet for the diner of a historic art gallery, and that was just one feature. This diner also boasted a performance stage, where a music quartet of four women in their twenties and thirties was playing. Music was an art, so like the carpet, the band was right at home.

As we entered the polished-up cafeteria, a woman greeted us. "Good evening. If you'd be gracious enough to wait a few minutes, I'll find you a table." She led us to the waiting area and we took seats.

A framed painting hung in the waiting alcove, a piece of abstract art done using various shades of green, one that almost matched Terra's choice hair color. Now that we'd both shared knowledge with each other, it was time for me to speak on a subject I'd only thought about. "Terra, I don't think I've asked this before, but your hair. It's a great color, if not unique and eye-catching. Why did you pick such a hair dye color?"

Her eyes, a darker shade of green, moved about. "Hair dye? Well…" She was quiet. "Leonard, my hair is not _dyed_ green. It's naturally like that."

"Huh? You mean it's a genetic effect you were born with?" This evening brought one surprise after another, all from a person I'd known for several months.

"Yeah. You know how Setzer's albino with silvery white hair? Mine's kinda like that, but a different gene, hence a different color." She smiled, and there was something off about this particular grin. It wasn't mischievous by any means, but I couldn't put my finger on its quirk.

It didn't matter. Naturally green hair made Terra more fascinating. "You Returners are just full of rarities, aren't you." I reached for her hand. It was warm, and rather soft to the touch. She leaned in, and I followed suit.

"Thank you for waiting. There's a table ready for you." The server came and announced that we could take seats.

We entered the dinging hall and were seated at a rounded table in the middle of the room. The menu here was quite diverse, probably more so than the white meat-centric entrées of Ghearn's Coop in Figaro City. The waitress gave us glasses of ice water and went off as we looked through the meal pages. Once I chose my selection of (what else?) root beer, soup, and grilled cheese with bacon, I glanced across the table at the women with naturally green hair. She was flipping through the menu selection, noticed me, and looked up. "Yes Leonard? You're looking at me with some kind of intent."

I folded my menu and placed it next to my bread plate. "Thank you for sharing all these details with me. I now understand why talking about that half-esper woman was so important for you. She lives today in this world, and isn't void like I first imagined. As she's a friend of yours, I'll have to meet her sometime. Where does she live?"

Terra looked back at the menu again, flipping through the last pages and mumbling to herself, probably something about the food selection. "I'll get back to you on that one, but I'll definitely be sure to introduce her to you in full." Terra winked. As she folded the menu, the waitress came back to take down our orders.


	25. Spreading the Seed

**Chapter 25: Spreading the Seed**

I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen Terra this happy.

Her second pre-planned date with Leonard had far exceeded her expectations. She sent Locke and I telegraph message, updating us on their wonderful visit and meal at a Narshean art museum. The message was vague, but it said enough. I replied saying we should meet so she could tell us all about the experience in person.

We strode through Figaro City, passing shoppers aplenty in the commerce plaza. Locke and I held hands, and Terra walked solo. Still, her excitement surpassed the combination of ours. "The real surprise was learning that he funded a charity for the orphaned Mobliz kids. I almost fainted. He'd influenced my life before I even knew him."

"You should thank him," chuckled Locke. "Their adoption is why you left Mobliz and settled down in Narshe."

"Well, I did thank him…in my mind. He doesn't know that I was the person who played 'Mama' to the village children." Obviously, Terra was still keeping secrets. Her reason was that spilling too much information at once could overwhelm poor Leonard, and with so many revelations to digest, he'd forget the important facts. Terra's little-by-little strategy of sharing her past was successful to this point.

We passed between shops in the plaza. Business was average during this afternoon hour. "I take it he still knows nothing of your half-esper lineage?" I asked with an educated guess.

"He doesn't know it's _mine_, but he knows such a person exists. I just told him she is a close Returner associate, and he needs to meet her some day." Terra grinned in a smug fashion. "He's rather enthusiastic to do so."

"A mere 'associate'? Terra, don't devalue yourself like that." Locke was unable to keep a straight face.

With my free hand, I touched her shoulder. "Congratulations on the second milestone. Your new, outgoing personality is being rewarded, just like I promised." I threw her a wink. "That said, did you learn anything new about Leonard?"

Terra's shoulder drooped a little. "Well, not exactly, aside from his funding Project Hope. He did it for a variety of reasons, not just to help the children, but also to relieve himself of excess money, and to spite his deceased father, to whom the currency belonged. His father and brother were dead, and only the next available kin had authority to make a decision regarding the riches, so Leonard stepped up and used it, not entirely for himself at that."

As she once again praised the Narshean's almsgiving, I reflected on her other words. "You know, you should inquire about his family. It's the perfect time. You already shared with him that your hair is naturally green, even if you didn't specify the reason. Let him open up. I'm sure he wants to."

"For a person like him, it can only do good," Locke offered. "One can't suffer in silence forever, not without a hefty price. Believe me Terra, I know what it's like to dwell on inner turmoil without releasing it. I'm sure you know too."

She brushed her bangs from her eyes. "Of course. After whatever he's been through, he deserves an outlet to speak his mind. Sure he's not perfect, and can be selfish more often then not, but given his past, it's justifiable." She looked around before continuing. "I won't allow his past to consume him. That's a promise."

Once again, Terra Branford was displaying a newfound resolve, a trait she rarely possessed before the great collapse. If I hadn't known Terra had once been a timid, confused girl without direction in life, I wouldn't have known. She'd progressed dramatically since leaving Mobliz, in some ways more so than Locke or I.

One day, maybe sooner than later, she'd thank Leonard for it. It would be mutual gratitude.

I held that thought, but a totally different subject was on Locke's mind. "Hey Terra, did you get around to visiting the moogle mines and asking about Umaro?"

"Actually I did…and was in for a surprise. The moogles thought I was a trespasser." She frowned at the memory.

"What the hell?" burst out Locke, his hand falling loose from mine. "That's bullshit. What's gotten into Mog now?"

"The moogles are overworked, doing many of Umaro's jobs in his absence, jobs which their short little forms aren't suited for. Under such pressure, some must've goofed in the security patrol." She gazed around in random directions. "Apparently, Joe entered the caves looking for Mog, and wandered into the restricted area without realizing it. The moogles themselves were unaware, until one who'd forgotten a toolbox stumbled upon him by chance. As you can imagine, the moogles were very hyper upon realizing he'd slipped past them by pure accident."

"Joe did that? Sneaking past guards with minimal effort?" Locke's knees buckled. His laughter came out in rugged snorts. "That's _my_ stock and trade."

"I immediately thought of you upon learning of Joe's…daring accomplishment. Don't feel ashamed Locke. Joe wasn't happy to violate the mine's enforcement code, at least Mog suggested such." Terra struggled to keep a serious face.

"Is that why the moogles thought you were trespassing?" I asked, keeping the talk on a serious note.

"Yes, Joe's coincidental breech was not taken lightly." Terra looked in the direction of the said mine, then looked away, shuttering. Something disturbed her, but territorial moogles alone didn't seem like cause for such concern. What else was she considering?

Locke regained his voice. "With all that commotion, did you ever get around to discussing Umaro being caged up?"

Terra shuttered again. "Yes. Mog's unapologetic about treating the yeti like so. He claims it's for the greater good of the mines. If he lets Umaro free, the yeti will, as Mog puts it, wander back and make a mess. With the loss of Shedairah, the inner-city mines are probably compensating to make up for it. That would explain the moogles guarding the mines with such zeal. I…I'd like to think Mog is just overworked and doing his job…but somehow…I don't know." Terra looked down at the concrete. Despite her newfound self-confidence, she was thoroughly confused on this matter. I didn't blame her. I felt likewise.

"Did you ask any questions about Mog's procedure?" Locke was also puzzled.

"When I did, he snapped at me in very defensive tone, saying I should not question his practices, for I don't manage the Verdsanath Mines." She frowned with uneasiness. "Attitude problems or not, he's got me there."

Silence lingered between us. How close was Mog to straddling that line between a strained, overworked foreman and a harsh, unfeeling jerk on a power trip? I couldn't find a readily clear answer.

Locke ended the quietude. "Son of a bitch. Now he's snapping at you for questioning his shady procedures? It's one thing to be overworked, but it's something else entirely to use questionable measures on your own friends." That last word was uttered with uncertainty. "Are they still friends? Did you ask that much?"

Terra shook her head. "I didn't get that far. Mog had to leave and mind a task at the ore crusher, a job usually reserved for Umaro, I assumed. I'd like to _believe_ they're still friends, but I don't know how either of them feels. I've not even spoken with Umaro. Mog won't allow him any visitors. With these demanding tasks, I don't know when the next chance to talk will come up."

"Maybe it's fortunate we're not in his position." Locke tried brightening the mood. "But don't think I'm excusing Mog's methods, even if he's doing it for the greater interest of the town mines.

We proceeded along the street. The discussion of Mog and Umaro was unpleasant enough, and with nothing else to contribute, we mutually left the subject alone. Minutes later, Terra glanced at her watch. "Thank you both for listening, but I have a sitting job in a while. I'd rather show up early than late. Locke, Celes, I'll be in touch."

"Thanks for sharing your successful date story," I commended. "I look forward to hearing more. Good luck with your next meeting."

"Let us know when it comes up," requested Locke. "Give Leonard my regards."

"Absolutely. Until next time, take care." Terra waved and darted up the cross-street for the nearest train stop.

Locke stared after her. "I'm amazed. The amnesiac little girl whom I assisted over four years ago has grown up so fast. It's like she's compensating for all those years lost under that goddamn slave crown."

I took Locke's arm. Talking about romance between others brought out the love between us. "She's earned it Locke. She was the person who brought us together, more often than not. She's the reason we journeyed into Zozo and Vector, and she ultimately led to Stargo and Relm joining our group. Since helping her required us getting access to the Blackjack, she's also the one to thank for Setzer joining our circle. She deserves what she's attaining."

"If that's the case, Leonard most certainly deserves her. Terra's a very special woman." He placed his fingers under my chin. "Not that I'm downplaying you by any means, but a woman like Terra has done so much, and she had so little to start with, if anything. Leonard would be hard-pressed to find a more fitting significant other."

I placed my hands around his waist. "And I don't think Leonard's that average, even if he would claim such. His past is quite unique, I'm certain of that much."

"Speaking of average, someone else has grown beyond that classification. After slipping by the security in the mines, I should start calling him 'above-average Joe.' What do you think?"

We resumed our walk through town. "I think you're feeling competition," I challenged mockingly. "You said it yourself. He pulled off something that's more in your department, accidentally at that. I think you're getting jealous."

"But I have something he does not. I have your heart, my dear. Not that Joe's unhappy being married to his jewel business, put I still prefer you over commerce." He squeezed my hand in emphasis.

"Speaking of commerce, we should check out the craft stores around here." I pointed at various stores that specialized in weaving and other handicraft works. "We could use some new ideas in touching up those old relics. A whole table's awaiting our care in Quildern."

"And speaking of Quildern, I've been curious about Joe's friend."

"You must mean the guy who was sick with Tapeworm, the one who Joe left to visit a couple months back?"

"Yeah, how could I forget? You nearly twisted off my hand when I asked about the friend's illness." Locke subtly massaged his wrist. "As I recall, Joe later told us the man's name is Bren Randluns."

"Next time you see Joe, ask him about that." I let go of his hand. "I promise I won't break your arm."

"You didn't break anything last time, you just made a threat." Locke took my hand again, knowing that I'd keep all bones in their proper sockets.

_change in s & n_

Axe in my right hand and dagger in my left, I studied Sabin's movements. Though his studded knuckle claws were the center of my attentions, I didn't overlook a more subtle detail, his eyes. One's pattern of eyes motion could foreshadow their next move.

Edgar's brother charged me, reaching outward with his armored fists. I back-stepped away from the first blow, only to see him reach up for a wide-angled hook. Instead of moving, I raised my axe to catch the strike. Metal clanged as his punching gauntlet bashed onto the axe head's broadside. He reached up for another jab. Before I knew it, my knife's pummel slammed into his other piece. Had I been any slower, he'd have tagged me.

Instead of pushing against his momentum, I moved with it. Sabin wasn't a man to lose his balance that easily however. As I back-peddled, he shuffle stepped and secured his footing. Instead of retreating, I broke to the side, varying my patterns just as he advised. I swung with the axe, and he blocked it once again. Not that I planned on tagging him. While he was focused on the larger weapon, I aimed for a straight jab with the smaller knife. It too was ultimately held back, its blade stopped dead between two studs on the left punching gauntlet.

Sabin mumbled something from behind his training mask. I let down and eased off so he could remove the head guard. "Very good Leonard. You've got some talent there, pairing two weapons of very different sizes and weights together for simultaneous use."

I sheathed the dagger and removed my own mask. "Less talent than you. I can't pull a super blitz without fainting."

"Practice makes perfect, my dear Narshean. That's exactly what this place is for." Sabin spread his arms wide. "Are you ready for take two?"

Sparring against Sabin served as the ideal warm-up, a chance to get my blood flowing in preparation for 'take two'. The last time I unleashed a wave of energy through my axe chop, I blacked out for several moments. Since then, I'd avoided the more complex blitz techniques. But I couldn't halt progress forever. I hardly wanted that, but straining myself into unconsciousness was not something I cared to repeat. The ever-wise blitz trainer structured this session to get me into the right mindset for a less rudimentary performance.

Outside in the dojo yard, another chunk of granite was placed in the dirt. "Transmit the energy from a swing into a projectile wave, am I right?" I recalled how the technique was properly done, even though I'd fucked it up last time.

"No, this time, try something different. Simply cut into the rock with a charged weapon in hand," instructed Sabin. "That technique requires less focus than shooting off a projectile aura."

"Okay. You know best." I stood before the rock and gripped the axe, remembering how to get the energy flowing from my hands into my choice weapon. Paced breathing was a crucial factor. As my adrenaline was already pumping from the previous exercise, it didn't take long for the weapon to radiate some kind of 'receptiveness'.

"On your time Leonard," called Sabin from behind me. I heard him, but I didn't respond. My concentration was on the axe, and the rock. With that, I raised the weapon overhead, eyed the target, and swung down. The axe head shined as it moved, not from any reflections, but from channeled energy.

The expected came. The axe head slammed into the rock surface with a small exploding sound. The noise of cracking granite and a spray of tan dust erupted on queue. I shut eyes on instinct, as the dust was flying up with intensity.

The world spun. It felt as if my legs were swaying, and that my feet were slipping in the dirt. Having blacked out once already, I braced myself to avoid a rehash. That extra effort did the trick. The spinning stopped and I no longer felt the sensation of standing in mud. I snapped my eyes open.

A deep, narrow V was etched into the rock, going almost three fourths of the way through. The axe head wasn't even dinged. Looking back and forth between the undamaged weapon and the gashed open rock, I let out a cheer, or some combo of cheering and laughing.

Sabin's reaction wasn't much different. "Hails to you Leonard." He was at my side, patting my back with much vigor. "I told you it would work. How do you feel?"

"Like I kick ass," I beamed, staring down at my handiwork. "If the weapon alone won't get the job done, combine it with a piece of yourself."

"And as a reward for your efforts, it's time for a breather." Sabin wasn't pushing me for additional drills just yet. "You're sweating, even though you're still conscious. Wipe yourself off and take a rest."

"A little sweat's not gonna do me in. I don't need a break just yet."

"But I do," clarified the blitz master "a bathroom break."

"Oh," I exclaimed with understanding. "By all means, relieve yourself in the proper facility. I clean up cow feces, but don't think I'll expand to include yours."

"Don't give me any ideas Leonard." Sabin laughed and departed the outside yard. I placed the axe down against the busted stone and looked about. A few large chucks had been scattered, but much of the stone fragments had broken into pebbles and gravel.

Clapping hands at the dojo doorway got my attention. "Bravo Leonard. Sabin tells me that you've just reached the next level of discipline." Joe continued his applause, walking over to observe the broken rock for himself.

"And I'm not the only one deserving kudos as of late. Congrats, on bypassing the moogle security patrols in the mine."

As was expected, Joe's bright smile vanished immediately, replaced with a puzzled, caught-with-the-pants-down look. "You…know about that?" He asked sheepishly.

I took a seat on the rock remains. "Terra and I met up again in Narshe, and she told me all about her visit to the mine. She went to ask about Umaro, and got a tale about your daring little feat." I offered reassurance so he'd understand I wasn't being critical. "It was not your intention. You just stopped by to seek out Mog, and knew nothing of where public areas ended or restricted areas began."

That did the trick. The embarrassed merchant eased up. "Yeah. I was quite startled when that moogle found me, going 'kupo kupo' in a shrill voice at a hyper pace. It's fortunate I could understand her and vice versa. I didn't know they could use weapons. They could've chopped me to ribbons."

"Well, they didn't. Moogles have better…judgment."

My verbal slip was obvious. "Leonard, you sound doubtful of such endorsement. Does it have anything do with Mog and Umaro?"

I looked down at the gravel before answering him. "You were there, and you saw how Mog was acting. From what Terra said, he's even more abrasive. He even snapped at her just for questioning his procedures. I know he's overworked and has deadlines to keep with Narshe's Mining Guild, but does that really excuse his response to Umaro's mistakes? He says Umaro must be caged or he'll make a mess, even of he's led away from the mine." I was truly on the fence regarding this matter. Each time I felt Mog was overdoing the disciplinary measures, I found a justified reason for his enforcing them. The mining equipment was worth hundreds of thousands alone, and the products they helped manufacture was even more so. Mining was the heart and soul of Narshe's economy.

I wasn't up for dwelling on such murky, negative thoughts. And Joe was thinking likewise. His next question was far more positive. "You met up with Terra again? So you really do have an interest in one another."

I brushed some gravel off the stone's top surface. "You already pointed that out. I need not reiterate your own finding."

"And I've many findings, though some of them just breed more questions," he paused dramatically "which I know you _cannot_ answer, no offence. You said yourself that you're clueless on Edgar's taxation procedures for the new plumbing, or what the gladiator Ziegfried is doing with the army."

"None taken, and you're right. I'm ignorant of such affairs." I leaned back, looking up to face the curious peddler. "You really should ask Edgar about such matters, especially the taxation subject. You'll be the next on the charge list, assuming he's not billing you already."

"That's not a threat, is it?" he asked jokingly. "I've been meaning to speak with him about a subject or two. But he's quite busy, as am I. In fact, I should head back to the castle."

"Alrighty. Have a good one Joe." I watched him leave the yard. For one reason or another, Joe was getting increasingly curious about various goings in within Figaro and Narshe. Being an everyman peddler, Joe was probably not used to all the spectacular dramatics that unfolded in Returner Land, almost on a daily basis. Weapons training with a professional gladiator and a city-wide retrofitting of an entire plumbing network were new experiences for a man who did little but sell jewelry.

Sabin returned from his bathroom break at that moment, suggesting a new kind of drill, a footwork-based exercise that specifically focused on long-jumps.

_change in s & n_

The inevitable was happening.

With House Virnone's increased military efforts, a steep increase in tax and labor followed. Yet the steady increase only applied to work hours. There was no increased pay for those tirelessly supplying the government's demand.

Some went along with it, as they were hard line patriots one step short of wearing the House's flag as a diaper. Said individuals had long ago sold their souls to the government, having sacrificed their Divine-given personal freedom and individuality in favor of mass duty towards 'the greater good.'

However, others weren't so blind. Many were beginning to ask why their government was more concerned with external conquest than internal wellbeing. With his ever perceptive ears, Baokiydu had picked up quite a few conversations among factory workers who were feeling disillusioned by the House's new policy. As each day passed, the conversations became more frequent and detailed, until one foreman chewed out another for speaking ill of the traditions which allowed the old Empire to grow. It would seem the masses were finally awakening.

Unfortunately, prudish tradition was strong in Tzen. Ass-kissing House lovers were still the majority of the population. Being the last remaining Gestahlian loyalist, House Virnone was literally heir to the Empire. Certain middle class and even some lower class prided themselves upon this stature. But the masses of defiant and unconvinced had grown immensely in the last week, ever since Janice Vellanois announced new openings for the army, which led to the increased demand of labor that ultimately started this awakening.

Enough people were catching on that a public rally had been organized outside a government building in the Nausetine District. This building was the headquarters for Tzen's Cabinet of Secretaries, and Cabinet Minister Iradmiud Gorukean would be among them.

Ambrose tightened his helmet. "Remember to call me 'Corporal.' It makes our cover story more authentic."

Was this a stab at humor, a measure of practicality, or both? "You _are_ a Corporal," I stated. "There's no fable on that one."

We'd attend the rally in disguise. Although he despised the Tzenish military and fled to avoid enslavement by its conscription, the Corporal had no misgivings about wearing Tzenish military fatigues if it would lend itself to our plan. Baokiydu had lifted a set from the factory's storeroom, along with a few hand radios that might come in handy later. To make our tale more convincing, Ambrose went by his rank. As for me, I was a person of 'mild importance' whom the Corporal was 'escorting'. My disguise was the goddamned travelling cape. Though I detested that fucking piece of shapeless cloth, it was becoming quite useful. I pulled my hood up tight, and Ambrose wore a helmet with a faceguard. We blended in perfectly.

The rally was underway. A mass group of protestors marched before the entrance to the Cabinet's building of office. They carried signs made from cardboard and dowels. Just like the press conference about the Nadreloitt breech, a wall of manned shields stood between the demonstration and building's entry. A handful of siege armors was lending support.

We joined the crowd, sort of, taking positions in its rear. "So how do we proceed?" I asked, acting like a VIP relying on my trusty escort. "Do we just elbow our way through the crowd and ask the shield wall troops to let us pass? That feels too direct and simple to me. I doubt they'd just let us through without asking questions."

The Corporal looked about, getting a fix on our surroundings. A wide, paved walkway connected the building to the main street. Smaller buildings of less significance were positioned on both sides of the Cabinet office. "Let's see how this goes first. I've a gut feeling this is just getting started. I'd like to see how the loyal troops react to this demonstration." For the moment, he was right. I also had a feeling this would be anything but a subtle event.

A man stood in the crowd's front with a wireless microphone device. "They're asking us to pay for military operations with an increasing financial coast," he bellowed, the device amplifying his objections. "Come on people. Are they really protecting us? If we pay their fees, we'll go broke very quickly. That won't protect us from poverty." The crowd cheered in agreement. The speaker faced the guarded building entrance. "Where's someone from the House? We demand to speak to someone upstairs."

More cheering erupted. The infantry and artillery soldiers hadn't done a thing yet. They just remained at their posts. The man with the speaker mic bellowed right into some trooper's face. I almost asked why the troops weren't coming down on the demonstrators, but realized that overtly attacking a group of townsfolk, even on the government's order, would fuck up any good public relations links, thus fueling the protestors' cause. Still, I didn't think the House would just sit passively and allow this. Something would go down.

Had we been blessed with clairvoyance, or just a simple gut instinct honed from Nyufalng discipline? I'd say the latter. A new chorus of shouts filled the air, and not from the gathered protestors. This was coming form the street. We both turned. "I knew it. Here it comes," I mumbled to Ambrose.

"Let's just see what goes down, but keep our guards up," he advised on the new turn of events. "It won't be pretty." What an understatement.

This new crowd was a group of House supporters, here for no other purpose than countering the anti-House demonstration. The House needn't do shit against the objecting voices. Its own loyal patriots would take care of the dissent.

A curly haired woman from the patriot group held a sound device much like the man in the protesting crowd. She raised it and shrieked, "Everything you have, your home, your land, your job, is all thanks to the House. How dare you object to the principals of House Virnone. You know that if you complain against them, you thus complain against the Empire they seek to revive. You live in this country and have no sense of duty. Me, I plan to have many children, and each of them will serve the House before themselves. Top that you selfish cowards!"

Spiteful barbs were hurled from the protesters. The man with the mic immediately stepped up to get in his word. "I have done my share," he growled "and I've gotten nothing for it. I might even go broke paying taxes for the new war efforts. I demand a decrease in taxation!"

"Why not just leave?" snarled the loyalist woman.

"I might just do that, should I risk bankruptcy paying taxes," retorted the dissenting man, earning cheers of endorsement from his group. He turned and addressed them. "If we all leave, who's going to fund the military ops?"

That did something. The hard line patriots were done with verbal exchanges. Someone from their crowd threw a rock. The rounded stone pegged the outspoken protestor in his midsection. He folded like a deflating balloon and went down. More rocks were hurled at the skeptics, and many from the loyalist crowd charged, swinging their sign posts like wood clubs.

And the military presence did nothing. Of course they wouldn't. They were here to guard the Cabinet building, not to protect a group of protesting townsfolk who were likely edging towards anti-government views.

As much I as sympathized with the demonstrators, I could do nothing for them. I'd not come here to join the rally, only to watch it. As of now, there was no longer a rally. It had collapsed into a one-sided riot.

Maybe that was good for us. The guards' attention was squarely on this bedlam. We could slip by more easily. As I pondered this, something on fire moved through the air. A person from one of the groups had crafted a homemade firebomb, which was now descending upon the stone walkway. It broke apart, spilling fire in all directions.

This got the army staff moving. The shield wall moved out, pushing rioters away from the building entrance. Two siege armors raised their cannon hands and fired some oblong shapes into the uncivil crowd. White mist burst from these objects, a non-lethal gas, but this did nothing to dissuade the pandemonium.

More soldiers ran from the sides of the building to quell the unrest, ramming rioters to the ground with their shields. Others were preoccupied with the fire.

While I took in the activity, Ambrose took my arm. "The new troops came from the other side of this building. Let's check out that area. They're here, so maybe there's less off that way." Acting like a person with a military escort, I let the young soldier guide me though the madness. He drew his shield and held it out to deflect any stray rocks, or rioters.

We skirted along the sides, against the walls of other nearby structures. Countless shouts echoes off the walls, and breaking glass decorated the racket. Someone must've broken a storefront window. A burglar alarm rang out, adding some cacophony to the mayhem. But we steadily pushed through the courtyard and reached the fence at the end. Its gate was closed, but a swipe from the Corporal's battle hammer forced it open.

Ambrose peeked beyond. "All clear," he said. I half-heard his voice amid the riot. I gave the chaos one last glimpse. That patriotic woman who vowed to raise a whole squad worth of future troops was now on the ground. One man was kicking her in the chest while a second was beating on her face with a garbage can lid. A marvelous site for sure, but not something I could allow to distract myself. I gazed at the Corporal and nodded. We ran through the opened gate.

There were no soldiers in this little utility region, but we did find something else. Ambrose pointed at a metallic cube grafted into the wall. Various pipes and wires ran to and from this box. "It's the building's power supply unit."

"Lights out?" I asked. Why else would he speak of it like so?

"Don't tell me you've never cut a buildings power supply before." He raised the hammer and slammed its beater head against the electricity box. The door bent inwards at the first strike, and came off at the second. The next swings bashed into the panel itself. Sparks and smoke burst form the wire console. We left the broken power supply box and pressed on.

Beyond the yard was another door. Only two men stood guard here, and their attention was largely on the noise around the corner. "VIP," said Ambrose with urgency. "We have to get inside quickly." Moderately distracted, the guards said nothing and let us pass. That military uniform was doing its job.

As we figured, the lights were off inside the Cabinet building, but enough daylight was coming in through the windows. We read signs pointing to the offices for each individual Secretary of the Cabinet, specifically those leading to Gorukean. There were no soldiers to be found along our way. They were all outside, trying to quell the riot.

Iradmiud Gorukean's personal office was on the fourth floor. We approached cautiously. The door was open a few inches, allowing me to peek inside. A husky man in a robe stood at the window, looking down at the riot below. I nudged the door open a little further, but not being dressed in military garb, I let Ambrose look inside. "He's alone," confirmed the Corporal. "Let's do it." On his word, we entered the Minister's office.

We were quiet, though it probably made little difference. The riot noises outside were audible, even in here, and the Minister watched the clash unflinchingly. Ambrose drew his hammer once more. Jim had modified the weapon to give it a front spike at the tip of its shaft. As I shut the door, Ambrose pressed this new spike against the Minister's neck. "Don't move Gorukean. We're going to talk." His voice was stern and menacing, but not loud.

As I reached to close the blinds, the Minister responded to Ambrose's demand. "I…already told you, we cannot produce that much in so little time" his voiced trembled. "And please….please leave my granddaughter out if this. She's barely into her teens, and has so much life to live."

The room was darkened, but I could still make out the Corporal's eyes. I exchanged a glance of understanding. The Minister was referencing some previous threat against him, or his family, and he thought we were that same people who'd made it. The facts had just been revealed. Iradmiud Gorukean was on a short leash of razor wire thanks to the House. The rumors were true.

Our primary question had been answered, with less effort than I presumed. "We're not who you think we are, Minister." Ambrose softened his voice, but kept the hammer spike in place. "But you've verified one of our curiosities. You really have been threatened by someone."

"Who are you?" asked the Minister in a shaky voice.

"For now, let's just say we're like you, to one extent or another," explained Ambrose in a vague manner that suggested enough, that we were anything but House loyalists. "Explain the nature of these threats."

By now, the old man had glanced around his room. He knew I was beside him, and the Corporal was at his back. "The House threatened my family. It's been true for the last dozen years, ever since I succeeded Valatir Hemsand as Cabinet Minister. General Vellanois has personally threatened to kill my grandchildren on a few occasions."

I leaned over and said, "You're not just sitting by and tolerating it, I hope."

"I can do little for myself, and the best I can do is keep my family safe by cooperating with the House's demands," sighed the Minister. "House Virnone is the law, regardless of one's personal opinion."

"In this town, the law is a bigger extortion scheme than any criminal organization," declared the Corporal. "But I'm sure you've known that for the past twelve years."

"If there was something I could so, I'd have done it back then," lamented Gorukean bitterly. "Besides that, I care for the well-being of my city-state. The House is fighting Maranda, with success at the moment. Even if my pride must suffer, I want Tzen to have a future. The House carries this nation, Gestahlian or not."

It was time for Gorukean to become enlightened. "How ironic that you're concerned for Tzen's future," I pointed out. "You know the Imperials almost led to the world's total destruction through their lack of foresight. They created Palazzo, and let him loose to scheme, never thinking there'd be consequences. House Virnone would only repeat such an error, so don't think they're the key to Tzen's future. We know otherwise."

"House Virnone will ultimately run Tzen into the ground. Just look outside." Ambrose lifted some of the window blinds so Gorukean could see the riot below. "You know why this happened? This was a protest against over-taxation, until loyalists came and caused a riot. The House only cares for those who share its ideas. And this riot is just touching the surface problems on the society level."

"There's something more important than a country, something upon which your country depends just to exist. Without it, your country is nothing." I didn't name this vital entity. It was too early to reveal the Divine's nature to the captive politician.

"If you really care about your family, you'll not follow the House's demands. That will lead to their demise." Ambrose eased his grip on the war hammer. "At least you still have a family for the House to threaten. I can't even claim that much."

"There's so little I can do, if anything." Gorukean shrugged and stared out the office window. "I couldn't even leave this room to speak with the demonstrators. My office was heavily guarded, until the riot broke out and all available troops were called down to contain it. By then, there was longer a rally to address."

"There are things you can do, no matter how small or subtle," I offered. If Gorukean knew of the many options around, he'd take action. I recalled one of our current directives, exchanged in a radio transmission after we attended the press conference. "Since you really are hanging by a noose, there's someone interested in meeting you personally."

"Who?" asked the Minister, curiosity growing in his voice.

"Someone we know, someone who can give you options you don't yet know about." Ambrose pulled his spike away from Gorukean's neck. We'd not said too much, but enough to spark his interest. "Remember, we're not the ones threatening your family."

Outside, nearly half the courtyard was enveloped in the white gas. By now, the shielded troops outnumbered the rioters. The army was bringing back a semblance of order.

The lights came back on, then flickered out. Repairs were underway for the damaged circuit box. "We should be going," announced Ambrose. He and I were both eager to leave before the lights and guards returned. "Make a decision, Minister Gorukean. Do you wish to meet again?"

"Yes. I wish to know more, but now's not the time for details." He rushed to his desk and scribbled something on a piece of notepaper. "Come back tomorrow. Say you're looking for me when you arrive. This note with my signature will provide you passage through the main doors. Might I ask, what is your name? I should know who I'm waiting for."

Ambrose rejected the note. "Well send you a letter in the mail, with a return address to which you can reply. For now, just call me Corporal Amroneque." As he gave a pseudonym, the lights came back once more, only to fade after a moment. He looked at me. "We must be off."

With no time for official farewells, we left the Minister's company. The lights came back on just as we exited through the building's side door. We stayed away from the courtyard. The army had closed it off to clean up after the riot. After distancing ourselves from the building, I said, "Good choice on giving him a secondary alias. But what about a reply address? You're not going to use Jim's place. What's your plan?"

"I'll set up a box at the post office, exclusively for this purpose." The Corporal glanced back at the Cabinet building. "It's still too early to ascertain if the Minister can be trusted in full, but we know he wants the best for his family, and why he acted so squeamish around Vellanois during that press conference. He's on bad grounds with the army. I'd say he trusts us more than them right now. Let's get back to Jim's and update HQ."

_change in s & n_

Thus far, the back pay method was getting the job done. One more stretch of town was re-plumbed, despite lacking the tax money to cover the full expense, and another stretch was underway. I looked at the progress report. "How much do we owe the Guild for the last segment?"

Charise sat on her respective throne across from mine, checking a folder of invoices and tax receipts. "A mere eight percent remains unaccounted for."

"That's not too bad. If we can keep up this work flow, the I-owe-you sum will be much smaller than I initially thought." I sipped my tea mug. "That missing eight percent should be covered with the next intake."

My wife organized the paperwork into the file. "The people believe in you Edgar. The residents will fund your taxation because of who you are. That's also why the Guild is working first and collecting full pay later. Your credentials and talents have earned such charisma. Not every person can attain such faith from the people."

I swallowed more tea and laughed. "That's funny. The Guild Banker told me something along those lines when I authorized work to preempt money intake. But it figures. The name 'Edgar Roni Figaro' is more than just an identity tag. It's becoming an idealist perception." Yes, I was exaggerating a tad, but my general point was received. In truth, it was this faith of my people that kept me hopeful.

"You bring out the idealism in cynics, dear." Charise closed the folder and stood from her fancy chair. "I must be off. There are some other matters to acknowledge."

"Remember to thank Chancellor Gurdeaux and Minister Larsone for their efforts and record keeping."

"I will. You take care." Charise left the throne room, leaving me to ponder the various other happenings of recent.

Gau was out celebrating his eighteenth birthday with Relm and some friends from their youth academy, but that was a minor affair. Cid's team of weapon specialists was already brainstorming a new kind of weapon for use in combat. To them, the best defense was the perfect offense.

"King Edgar, have you a moment?"

The voice was none other than Joe's. The merchant had just completed his daily shift in the commerce hall, and was now paying me an after-work visit before heading to the dining hall for supper. I sat up and smiled. "For a change, I have quite a few."

"That's good, because I have that much to ask." He scratched his chin, as if wondering where to start. "First, I have noticed you're trying to re-plumb this capital. As a resident, I should be charged, but I have not. Why is this, and how much longer will it perpetuate? I won't assume you'll never tax me."

I couldn't resist. "You wish Joe. Actually I've been thinking about that. You should have enough money to maintain a steady bank account, like the rest of the city populous. So unless you plan on moving to Narshe, you'll have to fund some of the construction tax. It's only fair, being that you live in this town. If you can afford a home away from mine, you can afford to pay for an upgraded water utility." I wasn't imposing, just objective and to the point.

"Of course. I have no objections to funding projects of Figaro's King. You did save me from Zozo. It's the least I can do in return." Joe was speaking with faith and trust, the very same faith and trust which Charise and the Guild woman attributed to the people. The man had no idea how encouraging he was. He still viewed me as some supernatural, hand of a goddess. "I hear it's being done to counter a looming drought. Any idea on what's causing that potential water shortage?"

"This is a desert town Joe. Beyond this castle was nothing but miles and miles of sand, until three and a half years ago. It was never moist from the start, and with all these water-consuming homes and businesses monopolizing the land, water's bound to run short eventually." This was just a theory, the best one I could conjure up. But I actually didn't know what was causing water quantity to diminish here in town. I could only counter it, not identify the cause.

My explanation satisfied Joe, factual or not. He nodded and mumbled something to himself before speaking up. "You are the King. Even if I'm oblivious, you have all the answers."

"Thank for the vote. Did you have other questions?"

"In fact I do, on a more grave matter." Joe took deep breath. "Not long ago, I was touring Narshe's Rasnayffe District with Leonard. We came upon a major library with a unique statute at its front steps. Curious, I read the inscription, and learned of an incident that occurred almost six months back, a massacre at the Shedairah mine. Supposedly, it was a new strain of monster that killed those people. But aside form that, reports were all vague. Surely you must know of strange new species with a violent streak, and are taking the proper measures to counter them."

I blinked slowly. It was inevitable that Joe would learn of the base massacre. Upon reading said reports, he knew little more than I. But his curiosity on counter measures was a fair question. He had every right to know my plans on dealing with the super creatures. He was relatively new in Figaro, and hadn't been privy to my first plans of action "The weapons department has been developing new tools and weapons for the job, and the military has been training fiercely. I'm on top of the situation, if that's your concern."

"Got any idea where these beasts came from?" Joe hit me with another legit question, which I could not answer sufficiently.

"As of yet, we do not. I've theorized that the post-Palazzo topographic activity could've stirred up new evolved breeds. We did encounter a few talking monsters back in the day, so maybe Shedairah was the work of said creatures' peers. A mining cave like Shedairah, which extends deep underground, would be a likely place for such beasts to pop up, maybe to reclaim their habitat." I said what I needed to, but kept the rest to myself. There had been no activity at Shedairah since the recon team collected samples of the dead super monsters. The leech in the lab, and the subsequent reemergence of Ultros and Lone Wolf at Dragon's Neck didn't fit with this 'reclaim their habitat' scenario. But Joe needn't be informed of such. I had no reason to worry him without necessity. "But regardless of the monsters and their…motives, I plan to be ready when they come back next."

"Is that why you have Ziegfried Morersch training with your army?" asked Joe. "I've heard about him from Sabin at the dojo. Ziegfried battles monsters in the arena by trade, so he should be knowledgeable of such matters."

"You could say that." I answered the peddler as best I could, but he was starting to get interested in more secretive elements of military training and weapons development, matters than were anything but his business. I gave him a reminder. "I'll leave it at that Joe. I can't reveal all my top secret tricks. I'm sure you know when you're out of bounds. Your experience at the moogle mine should've been a lesson."

"Let me guess, Terra informed you about that little security breech?" Joe theorized. "Leonard already mentioned it. If she told him, she'd tell you."

"I'm sure it was embarrassing, particularly because you didn't mean it. You were only seeking out Mog," I assured him. "Just keep this in mind next time you stray in unfamiliar territory. Know where the boundaries are."

Joe nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I hear Mog's been overworked, tackling jobs to make up for the yeti. That's probably how I got through."

"I've been thinking of such. It wouldn't hurt to give them a little support. With moogles doing extra work at the mining utilities, the security is waning. Some of the town guards ought to give them a hand and patrol the mines." If Joe could get by accidentally, what would a prepared individual with intrusive motivations accomplish? "I'll mention that to Governor Hoff."

Joe clapped his hands. "Score another victory for the good King's intuition." He praised me once again. "Well it's been a great chat. I'm getting hungry, so I'll leave you to whatever tasks demand your attention."

As he turned to leave, I asked him one last question. "Joe, has Leonard spoken to you about Shedairah?"

"He claims to have known some of the people who died there, but nothing else."

"Thank you. Enjoy your meal." I watched the curious merchant leave my presence. Joe had every reason to play twenty questions, at least for certain topics. His interest in the plumbing tax was natural. Had he asked nothing about the taxation, I would've questioned his attentiveness. The construction was no secret. He lived here in town, and would pay some of his earning to fund the piping facilities like all other residents.

However, Joe's interest in weaponry training was quite beyond his league. Was he merely interested in how I'd slay the monsters when they showed up, or was there some greater underlying reason for this newfound interest?

Justified interest or not, at least he understood when to lay off and not ask too much about secretive military happenings.

_change in s & n_

My Scimitar cleaved another piece of birch wood in half as I reached the high point of my jump. Even as I came down, I gathered my strength for another leap. Training and focus allowed me to leap a dozen feet above the ground once more. I swung at the birch block nailed to the closest pole in the dojo yard.

This time, I used momentum to carry me against the towering post. My feet touched the column, and I pushed off toward next one, cutting sideways to strike its respective birch piece.

Now I was coming back down. I used the Air Kick move to slow my drop, giving me an extra half-second to thrust forward and tag another block immediately below the previous.

I touched the dirt, and made one final leap between the last two wooden posts. Several birch pieces were nailed against this last set. I had to control my forward motion, lest I pass through too quickly and not strike all the targets. Each post had three blocks nailed to its midpoint. I raised the Scimitar to my right and swung left, reaching my arm forward. The swung was a direct hit, chopping into both blocks on the top row. My forward trajectory continued, and I swung back from my left as I passed through the space, too quickly to observe my results. From the sound and feel against my blade, I hit something, but how deep was that second slash?

I landed from this final jump. Looking up at the posts, I could see that both blocks in the middle row had been tagged. However, only three stray chunks of birch lay on the ground below. My second strike had only split one of its targets. And that bottom pair of blocks was untouched.

"Fantastic," called Sabin from the yard's corner.

I pointed up at the blocks with my sword. "Almost. Only three blocks are split. One's just scratched, and I didn't even swing at the last two. It's not a perfect score."

"Terra, practice makes perfect. Remember the first time you tried this. You could barely cleave through one block in a slash. Now, you got two in a single motion." Sabin swung his arm slowly, as if holding a blade. "In time, you'll get that perfect score. Of course, once you do, you'll be working to perfect something else."

"Is that so?" I asked, catching his tone. "If you're so certain, what might that 'something else' be?"

"A new trick." He clapped his hands. "One that builds off the Sword Air Blade. This is not so much a ranged attack, but it's definitely something that will clear your space should you get caught in a pincer attack."

"Let me guess, it involves jumping." Sabin wanted me doing these jump-and-strike drills for a reason, and it surely related to this new technique.

"And sideways cuts, mostly the latter," he clarified. "But it's not a standstill technique. I'm dubbing it 'Cyclone Repel'. It uses centrifugal force to push away foes from all sides."

I cut horizontally with the Scimitar. "Sounds impressive, but just talking about it won't get the job done. Let's give it a shot." I took a ready position. The drill had placed me in the mindset for some jumping and cutting moves. Now it required focus on the specific movements for this new blitz.

I slashed in full circles, gaining momentum for the Cyclone Repel move. After three complete turns, Sabin gave me the signal. "Go now." At his words, I rushed forward, turning as I advanced. Halfway across the dojo yard, I jumped. This wasn't a leap for height or distance, just something to get me airborne.

Loud whooshes filled the air. I'd cumulated enough discipline to keep from getting dizzy and passing out, and was able to briefly glimpse the spinning world. It was blurry for the most part. All I could make out was my sword, spinning at same rate as my person. It was glowing too, emitting a faded color of mixed pale blue and lilac.

Then I came down. The Scimitar lost its colorful radiance. Dust was blowing around and settling several feet away. In fact, this was true in all directions, as if I'd pushed away the dirt from my position on all sides…a feature of centrifugal force.

"And that is Cyclone Repel." Sabin gazed around the yard. The dirt surrounding me was void of gravel. I'd pushed it all away. "First time was the charm. If you're ever surrounded by enemies, remember this."

"I thought Aurashield was the multi-angle defense to call up in such a jam." I thrust downward in a twisting motion.

"Aurashield only holds out for a split second, and it's not meant to destroy what it deflects, so it's useless against large objects like falling rocks. Cyclone Repel not only repels things, it can also slice through them. Had you been surrounded by enemies, they'd have been cut down to size." Sabin elaborated on the new blitz.

There was no sensation of dizziness, but everything was a tad blurry. Sabin's image was splitting in half and rejoining itself in a non-rhythmic pattern. "Why is everything fuzzy? And I'm seeing double. Is this a side effect?"

"Well, Cyclone Repel has a drawback. It can leave the user drained somewhat, as you're experiencing. Cyclone Repel takes time to call up, unlike Aurashield which is instant." Sabin moved in close, but I couldn't discern anymore details of his movements or expression. Nonetheless, his words were crystal clear. "And you already know about its recovery time. I must emphasize this. Use it sparingly, never twice in succession."

"Waste no focus. Every usage of the new blitz should count. Wasted tries will leave an opening for the enemy to exploit." My vision finally cleared. "Point taken."

Sabin clasped his chin. "You know Terra, your coordination has improved dramatically in the past couple months. I think you're ready for a sparring partner, and I don't mean myself. I'm thinking of someone closer to your stature, someone's who not a master like me."

"And that would be? Wait." Something came to mind. "Don't tell. I think I get it."

His eyebrows went up. "You're smart. Who's being referenced?"

_change in s & n_

After three days of exchanging semi-anonymous letters with Iradmiud Gorukean, it was time for the next step.

The Minister was even more fascinated about our vague, implied ambitions. We'd not disclosed much, but enough to illustrate our opposition to House Virnone. He wanted to meet with someone in particular, but doing so proved to be a sophisticated operation. Nonetheless, we pulled it off, in part with Gorkean's help.

A meeting in Tzen, though possible, was out of the question. We knew much about the Cabinet's leader, more than he knew about us. We wanted to keep it that way for now, so the meeting would be on our terms, outside of Tzen. For Gorukean, leaving the city-state of his position was anything but conventional. The House would never grant him permission to leave the city's confines, and there would be hell to pay if he skipped work unexcused. But if he skipped against his will…

The plan was to stage a kidnapping. A typed note would be sent to the Cabinet's HQ building, claiming that Minister Gorukean was being held captive and there'd be a subsequent letter stating demands when the time was right. It was the Minister's idea.

The first part of the plan was to meet Gorukean himself. He'd split from his wife some years back, and thus lived alone. As his family was under threats, they were more guarded than he was. With Ambrose wearing a Tzenish military uniform, bypassing the minimal security was a mundane task. Before the night's curfew set in, we met Gorukean at his residence. Our story was that a guest awaited us at the Minster's home, where we'd pick him up. The escorted 'guest' was actually the Minister. Using middle-class clothes, we disguised him as to slip through the town unnoticed. One feature was crucial to his disguise, a pair of sunglasses with darkened lenses. These weren't just to hide his identity; they were also to mask his vision as we moved through town, so he'd not have a fixed idea where he was going. We didn't fully trust him yet, and weren't leaving anything major to chance. To the public, our escorted guest was allegedly blind, the reason for our assistance.

He spent the night in Jim's basement, bound, gagged, and blindfolded. After all, he was faking a kidnapping, so it was only logical to act as though his captivity was for real. He accepted the terms of restraint, as it was his idea to fake the capture. Jim even photographed the bound Minister using a Polaroid, so the kidnapping scenario would be more authentic. Instead of sleeping in his usual upstairs bedroom, Baokiydu slept in the basement to watch the Minister. It wasn't necessary, but the Sensorian did a visual scan for any bugs or tracking devices, and found none. We'd already ascertained Gorukean's lack of said gizmos before disguising him.

Morning came in time. For extra support, Baokiydu would accompany us out of town, claiming to be ill so he could miss a day of work. Jim would stay in town. He wasn't much on outings or action. The remaining three of us donned our disguises, Ambrose in his Tzenish fatigues, Baokiydu with the facial bandages, and me with the hooded travel cape. Gorukean still wore the stuff we'd given him the previous day.

Jim left earlier than usual so he could stop by the post office. The kidnap letter and photograph of the 'kidnapped' Minister were placed inside an envelope addressed to the Cabinet office, sans a return address. Our inside man would drop the letter into the outgoing mailbox and proceed to the factory like normal.

Once Jim left, the Corporal departed shortly thereafter, heading for a carriage depot. The rancher was another blind-sided patriot who let Ambrose borrow the mounts and carriage for free. That military uniform did its magic again. Oh well, more money in our pockets, and less money lining the banks of those ass-kissers.

He came back with our transportation. Instead of boarding at the curb, he pulled the wagon close to the roll-up door of Jim's workshop. We loaded some boxes and a large drop cloth inside, and the Minister took his place between the large packing containers, covered by the tarp. What better way to 'smuggle' him out of town.

With him in place, we locked the house and took our seats. Baokiydu and I sat with Gorukean in the enclosed carriage, while Ambrose took the reigns. We proceeded south, towards the city limit.

In the weeks since we'd entered Tzen, the refugees had leveled off, no longer amassed in one location. Most of those awaiting entry were coming from Nadreloitt to the west, an expected reaction to Maranda's penetrating the said garrison. The garrison in Rosseaund to the southeast had thinned out, as most refugees had entered Tzen by now. The letters we exchanged with Gorukean, combined with overhead conversations in the factory, revealed the tightest points of security were now on Tzen's western front. The recon parties that scouted the Dimofres Mountains to the south had all been summoned west. That left us with a clear path to the Dimofres Range.

When our cab approached the guards at the southern perimeter, Ambrose explained our purpose. He was escorting two civilian merchants out of town so we could gather herbs for our business, herbs that didn't grow within the town's confines. Minister Gorukean stayed hidden amongst the boxes and tarp. The guards asked no questions, and smoothly ordered the massive, fortified gates open to allow us passage.

A few hours passed as we rode through the plains of Tzen's countryside. The Dimofres Mountains loomed closer. Ambrose pulled the radio out and sent a brief message, no more than a sentence in length. Between the letters to Gorukean and radio transmissions to Albrook, our plan was orchestrated.

Our destination came up. Segolienne was a Tzenish city on the foot of the Dimofres Mountains. Like other towns in the plains, Segolienne had long been abandoned. It was the perfect place for our clandestine meeting. The Corporal pulled the wagon to a stop near the remnants of a village square. As he tied down the chocobos, Baokiydu and I awoke Gorukean from his nap and escorted him to the meeting spot, a large house at the base of a rolling foothill.

The Corporal knocked on the door, saying a few Jrysthovuhn words as he did so. Like all Nyufalng staff, he knew the language. A response came from inside. Once Ambrose opened the moss-laden door, we escorted the Minister inside, taking him to a room in the back.

A lone individual awaited us here. There was a padded chair in the middle of the room, and we seated Gorukean down, finally taking off his blindfold. It made partial difference. A lamp was switched on, highlighting the center of the room and illuminating Gorukean but not much else. We stood in the shadows.

"Welcome, Tzenish Cabinet Minster Iradmiud Gorukean." The voice of High Shenthaxa Ruqojjen Kagasjori filled the room with pleasantries. The Nyufalng chief travelled here after we'd establish that Gorukean wanted to meet personally. Ruqojjen selected this area once we confirmed where the patrols were stationed, and where they'd left.

"G-good day, whoever…you…are," stammered Gorukean as he looked at the Nyufalng leader's silhouette. "Who are you?"

"A burning question, Minister, but not the most important." Ruqojjen leaned forward slightly, still masked in shadow. "You should instead consider our capabilities, and our motives. We have mutual enemies, House Virnone and its supporters. You know more than any of us what the House has done."

"Valatir Hemsand." Gorukean's head drooped as he named his deceased predecessor. "They killed him, and threatened my family if I didn't take his place. Twelve years has changed nothing, save that I now have grandchildren at the House's mercy."

"That is reason to act against them," I stated over Gorukean's left shoulder. "Surely you want your family to be safe and free."

"I can do so little." The Minister cursed his own impotency. "I want what's best for them, and what is best for my country. The House kept Tzen alive during Palazzo's year of terror, and keeps Tzen functioning today. They have loyalty that could only be described as fanatical. For me to stand against them would be more than suicide. My family would pay dearly. I've been a hostage for a dozen years, for my family's sake, and the sake of Tzen."

Ambrose knelt down and eyed the Minister through his helmet. "You know that House Virnone will eventually ruin Tzen. You saw the rally opposing the new tax. The military barred you from speaking with the protestors, and let loose a mob of patriots against them."

"How can I forget?" The Minister shivered. "I saw the bodies of the demonstrators." Unlike our scheme at the Elporviran field, the Nausetine riot claimed lives. When I last read the paper, at least fifteen people were confirmed dead. Gorukean himself backed up that number. "Protestors were allegedly killed by the troops to reestablish order."

"Really?" I sneered. "Having been down there as it happened, I saw patriots throw the first rock and set things off. You know the demonstrators were really killed for their dissenting opinions. The soldiers just couldn't attack the rally direct without looking bad. They let some patriots start shit, which gave the army a fitting pretext to kill objecting voices." I softened my tone to be more diplomatic. "You know Valatir Hemsand was poisoned to death, despite the public story claiming he died from heart failure."

"Your family is not safe," warned the Corporal. "Neither is your nation."

"I know that!" Gorukean snapped in aggravation, but caught himself to prevent a second outburst. He breathed heavily. "What can I do? What is it you want from me?"

"Information. Just inform us of activities in the House, and we'll take things from there." Ruqojjen's voice was stoic and objective, a full contrast to the defeatist tone of the Minister. "You need not do things directly."

The Minister paused, as though deeply considering this proposal. "Okay. But even if the House is weakened, what then? A loyalist will surely rise to succeed Earl Bantriue and his sons. If not, Tzen will be plunged into anarchy. The House is still the law."

I could barely discern Ruqojjen folding his arms. "I don't challenge that fact, but you are the _Cabinet Minister_. You're not part of the House itself, but you have knowledge. The House demanded you take Hemsand's place for that very reason. Without your knowledge and talents, House Virnone could not function. This applies to the entire Cabinet, not just yourself."

The Corporal stood from his crouch beside the Minister. "In other words, you and the Cabinet also represent the rule of Tzenish law."

"And if the House fucked with you after Hemsand died, they could easily fuck with other members of the Cabinet," theorized Baokiydu in his rough, gravelly voice. "You may not be alone in your captivity."

It was my turn to give the politician some encouragement. "If you and the Cabinet work together, you could govern Tzen following the House's demise. You could rebuild what the House has demolished or neglected." I pointed at the surroundings. "Hell, you could get this town repopulated."

"That I could, but…" Gorukean paused, rubbing his fingers against his forehead. "But it would be treason if I exchanged important secrets with anti-House organizations like you."

"Is that truly a bad thing?" asked the High Shenthaxa is a less stoic voice. "It's not like House Virnone deserves loyalty. They're disloyal themselves. Hemsand's death proves that, even if the truth is buried to the public. You know it firsthand."

"The House is not loyal by any means, but I can't so easily approve of treason. I believe in the rule of law, and treason is unlawful, no matter who it's committed against, even House Virnone. I've been an honest citizen all my life, and was brought up to respect the higher authority regarding codes of conduct. As a Cabinet Minister, I seek to retain that lifestyle even more. I never aspired to be a criminal, certainly not one committing high treason."

And this was the root of Gorukean's dilemma; morality. Like so many others who suffered in this world, Gorukean was intent on the action of absolute moral goodness. He so believed the 'good' choice was the right choice. Betraying House Virnone was anything but, as far as the Minister was concerned.

Silence lingered as the Minister hung his head, torn between his family and his ethical views. Finally, Ruqojjen got the conversation flowing once more. "You know Minister. You should look at the past twelve years. Your devotion to the so-called 'right' choice has left you helpless and your family prisoners. Ask yourself, what has the 'good' choice brought you in all that time?"

"You follow the rules, you suffer the consequences, getting punished by those who don't have any rules," said Baokiydu. "I too once served a government much like House Virnone, all without knowing its true nature. The more I gave, the more they wanted. Eventually, I couldn't deliver, so they fucked me up and left me for dead." Slapping noises ensued as he flat-palmed his fist. "As a result, I became what I am today."

"You've given them so much, and the House only demands more. Look at the new military operations tax." Ruqojjen reached forward, his forearm entering the lamp's aura. His beckoning gesture caught Gorukean's attention, for the Minister looked up. "Their demand will increase to where you can't supply it. Once that happens, you and your family will suffer. You know what will happen, so I won't spell it out. If you wish to act, it must be now." He withdrew his hand from the light, as if motioning for the Minister to follow. "Your opinions of high treason against the House are consistent with a man of your moral perspective, but if you don't alter that perspective quickly, your family will pay for your inaction, and you'll ultimately reap the punishment of your moral goodness."

"Punishment for morality." Gorukean sulked, his shoulders drooping. "I never thought such a thing were possible, but now that you mention it, that's exactly what happened to Valatir Hemsand. The House eliminated him for mere differences of opinion."

"And your family will follow if the House remains in power," prophesized Ambrose once more. "Think of them. Make the wise choice, even it's not the morally pure one. Remember, you still _have_ a family. Mine was taken from me. You never chose to have an Imperial loyalist House rule your country, nor did you choose to become their Cabinet Minister, but now you have something you've lacked for the most part, a _choice_, a crucial choice."

I gave the politician a condensed ultimatum. "If you really care about your family and your nation, you'll choose to betray House Virnone over lawful compliance."

Gorukean sighed. "I only wanted to be a good man, but now I must commit a bad deed for my people. My law-abiding family can only survive through my unlawful collusion with you." Despite misgivings, the Cabinet leader had just made his intentions clear.

"Minister, just because you're not a good person doesn't mean you're a horrible one." Ruqojjen's stone cold voice had taken a less edgy, almost comforting vibe. "Against something like House Virnone, pure goodness cannot prevail. You know this better than most. Realize that your decision will bring freedom to your people and your dear family, Iradmiud." It was just like Ruqojjen, to dispose of traditional formalities by calling the Minister by his given name.

Use of his first name got his attention. He looked up in a smooth motion. "I have so much to gain if I act, and so much to lose should I not. Okay. You want information. What are you curious about?"

Before any of us could ask that first question, the Shenthaxa beat us to it by applauding the Minister's intelligence. "Splendid. I knew you'd understand. You're a worthy man, Iradmiud." He stressed the Minister's given name again. We were all now on a casual basis with the Cabinet's leader.

Baokiydu voiced his prime interest when the opportune silence came. "What are some potential responses to the brigade under General Aelchass's command, the one presumed KIA?" He touched on the very matter that got us motivated to enter Tzen and disrupt House Virnone's plans in the first place.

Iradmiud looked off to the west before gulping down hard. He was going to spill the beans on top secret military affairs for the very first time. "The breach of Nadreloitt is more a priority, but the vanishing brigade is not being overlooked. There are plans to dispatch some covert ops to the areas of the Kavaryts Basin. It's unknown if the Duke's army destroyed Aelchass's unit, but that scenario is far-fetched. Albrook's House was likely behind it. Who else could've been?" Just as we'd all theorized, Tzen would be doing spy ops of their own. We'd beaten them to such a practice after all. I glanced at my company, though their faces were masked in darkness. But they were no doubt grinning smugly. Iradmiud still thought Sireck and Edrina were alive.

Ambrose spoke up next, getting the Minister's thoughts off the brigade matter. "What is the next plan of action against Maranda?"

The Cabinet's leader was less hesitant to answer this time. "The garrison has been reinforced, but it's unlikely the Duke will just remain idle. General Vellanois is presently cumulating a strike force to march on the closest Marandan military installation, Fort Nolbierros. Last I'd heard, the party's size wasn't quite at the desired halfway mark."

Unofficially, it was my turn to grill our reluctant mole. "What is the deal with Lord Brofias? Rumors about him have been circling." I recalled the discussion from Elporviran's bathroom. The Sergeant was vehement in pushing that Brofias was a man of rightful tradition, as though he was denying rumors to the contrary.

"Brofias." Iradmiud's voice took a sour note. That said enough, but his words said more in detail. "He's the younger son of the Earl. Being of royal blood, you'd think he'd be content, but he's always struck me as…miserable. He acts irreverent, unlike his older brother Lord Chadimus. It's very unbecoming for the son of royalty."

To some extent, the rumors were true. But I had a new question. "Miserable? Is he like you, feeling trapped by the House and seeking to free himself from his royal burdens?"

"No." The word flowed smoothly off the Minister lips. "Lord Brofias is not a person I would trust any more than General Vellanois. The man is extremely vindictive, throwing temper tantrums if he merely _thinks_ one is talking ill of him. I'm just glad he's not making military decisions. His impulsive temper is almost as terrifying as the threats aimed at my family, and he's never made any."

There was a clear rift between Brofias and Iradmiud. The Minister sounded more negative about the younger son than he did about the collective House and government, if only by a small margin. That brought up my next question. "Does anyone else feel that way about him? If he's that abrasive, surely he's pissed off others besides you?"

"I've never asked. I stay away from him in particular, and never think to inquire about such," admitted the Cabinet leader. "Should I?"

"Of course." Ruqojjen leaned as close as he could without entering the pillar of light. "It should be obvious. That's your first task. Investigate Brofias's demeanor, and find out if there are additional schisms between him and other political figures. He sounds disloyal, at least from what you told us, Iradmiud."

The Minister sat up straighter than he'd been all this time. "You know, in my day, no one called politicians by their given names. It was very informal and classless."

"I know that. But you should know this. Times will be changing. Welcome to the modern world, Iradmiud." Once again, Ruqojjen used the Minister's given name to illustrate his point.

The Minister grumbled, but didn't press the matter. "You know, I have nothing against freeing my glorious nation from its corrupted rulers, but let's not make times change too hastily. Suppose we somehow remove the House from power, so the Cabinet can rule in its place. There's another factor that could make life hell. The Duke of Maranda. Have you thought of that? While I help rebuild Tzen, the Duke's legions could swarm and crush what remains, striking in our most vulnerable time. The House is despicable, but it's doing a fine job of battling the Duke and his fanatics."

It was a logical misgiving, and I was hardly surprised that Iradmiud considered it. Still, I was no less surprised that Ruqojjen had the answer. "You just worry about freeing your family and revitalizing your precious Tzen. Don't mind the Duke. He's next on our shit list."

Now the Minister was catching on. "You've plans to…wait! You're not a simple Tzenish insurgence movement? You've plans elsewhere?"

"Some of us are of Tzenish background, like myself," said Ambrose of his heritage "but we've membership of various origins."

"We were always more than a simple rebel group." I could see the High Shenthaxa spread his arms wide, referencing the collective Nyufalng, unbeknownst to the Tzenish Minister. "We started as a break away group from our homeland, and soon became a diverse confederation."

"Confederation?" Iradmiud almost fell off his seat. "How could a new confederation on this land go unnoticed, unless…" His arm shot up, his index finger trained on the Nyufalng's founder. "Are you Albrookers? Did you kill off General Aelchass and his unit?"

"Was he a dear friend of yours?" Ruqojjen's question neither confirmed nor denied Iradmiud's presumption. "I thought you were on bad terms with the Tzenish brass."

Iradmiud let out a deep breath and relaxed his arm. "Save it. I don't want to know about your dealings abroad. Just help me depose House Virnone, then go about your business elsewhere."

"We don't like imperialism anymore than you. When House Virnone is gone, we'll leave you alone. Just keep out of our dealings, and we'll stay out of yours." The Shenthaxa reached forward again, this time taking the Minister right hand in his own. "I give you my word, we respect neutrality."


	26. The Stairs to Fate

**Chapter 26: The Stairs to Fate**

I looked at my watch again, waiting patiently for Terra.

Our last get-together at the Chulidion Art Gallery perked my interest in the Thossiel District. Having grown up in its vicinity without ever exploring it, I now had the perfect excuse to familiarize myself with this culture-driven neighborhood. Terra had done such in scouting for a date idea, so it was my turn.

And I found yet another interesting place I'd heard little about. A few miles north of the art gallery was the Spethald Academy of Theatre and Literature, and like the museum, it boasted some of the best artwork in town, the perfect complement to the school's performing arts function.

After discovering the place, I sent Terra a message about getting together here. As I expected, she was more than up for it. We set a time and day that allowed us mutual availability.

"Leonard." As I rested my weight against a lamppost with an almond-shaped bulb fixture, a woman's voice spoke my name. There she stood on the concrete path, her bangs and ponytail flowing in the gentle afternoon breeze.

"Just in time." I acknowledged her presence. "I've not been here but five minutes. And no, I didn't get bored." She laughed and approached me. Without having to think, I reached out for her. A gesture I'd been hesitant with only months ago was now subconscious. Terra was no different. She took my hand in one smooth motion. "I presume you share my interest in this performing arts academy. Ever been here?"

"No," she admitted "but I trust your judgment in selecting date spots." While this was hardly a surprise endorsement, it was exhilarating to hear those words. Her squeezing my hand was just as expected, and just as empowering.

The Spethald Academy was a very popular landmark. Some designated chocobo cab routes travelled exclusively back and forth past the school. There were a few people roaming the grounds at this hour, mostly students with briefcases and theatre staff with prop wagons. As we passed a dormitory building, Terra kicked off this date's conversation. "You know Leonard, I've been thinking. I've shared a lot with you, about esper history and our half-esper associate. I think it's time you came out and opened up yourself."

We stopped walking. I took her hand in both of mine. "I've been considering that myself. I know it'll be good for me."

She placed her free hand atop mine. "It will be good for both of us."

I took a deep breath. I wanted to do this, even if I didn't reveal everything all at once. "I know that, but understand it's been years since I last told anyone about my past, something I rarely ever did. I'm so infamous, I didn't think it would be necessary at this point. Broadcasting my family's atrocities doesn't feel comfortable at all."

Terra blinked. "I believe you understand your family's ill deeds are not your fault. It's not about you, so you've no reason to feel ashamed."

"I know, and I've always known that being a Gurosawn was never my choosing. Shit, if I could've changed that, I'd have done it half my lifetime ago. But the past cannot be undone, be it my doing or happenstance. I can move on, as I have since I met you."

Terra's green eye twinkled with anticipation. "So tell me of the past Leonard. It can't be any worse than Kefka or the Empire. I doubt it's on par with Kefka."

Or maybe it was, with the Empire at least…literally. But that could wait. I only needed to start with the basics. I let go of Terra and stood under a nearby carob tree. With resolution and another deep breath, I began. "A lot has been implied, as I'm sure you know. That woman from the train stop, and your dear friend Arvis probably gave you a vague idea of my family background."

Terra folded her hands. "Don't forget my talk with your friend Rodney, or Sarge as you call him. He said very little, but enough to further suggest those details."

She knew something. I wouldn't be starting from scratch. There was a clear path to follow. "To spell things out, my father Julus was a wealthy business tycoon. His closest partner was another crooked businessman, Nicola Braslino. His son was my old arch enemy from the Shedairah mine, Quentir Braslino."

"The one you pummeled after he tried touching you in mockery," said Terra in recognition. "He was also the Major's hand-picked foreman, the overseer of the mining ops."

"You memory serves you well," I praised, "And to build on that, Major Blockhead…erm… Bozwensc was hand-picked by my father and Quentir's for the role of private security. The man was obsessed with natural resources from here in town. Since the Braslino-Gurosawn business was all about such, the Major fit right in, what with his greed. A few thousand GP a month and free petroleum guaranteed Blockhead's loyalty. Dad and Nicola had the funds. Putting various competitors out of business helped boost their own profits."

A few birds flocked to the tree's higher branches. Terra gazed off towards a distant building. "That all makes sense, from the little bits I've heard previously. I gathered your father had various town officials on a payroll of sorts."

"A councilman, a constable chief, a court judge, at least three guild leaders, an economics professor." I held up a finger for each connection on dad's old list. "The Major undoubtedly convinced some peers from the brass to join in."

"You know, I kinda wondered about such." Terra's eyes fell to the grassy field along the pavement. "But hearing it in your own words is jarring nonetheless. It was more extreme than I imagined. Your father had a great deal of Narshe bought and paid for, and those he victimized blamed you out of convenience."

I faced her as she gazed back to me. "Pretty much. It wasn't hard, really. I was the un-favored son, so I wasn't granted 'immunities' like my brother and sister. Dad protected them, leaving me as prey for his enemies. I got defensive when I was younger, but as I saw more and more of what my father did, I ceased hating his victims, seeing them as just that. They always viewed me as an extension of dad though."

I'd reached another milestone. Until recent, I couldn't even _think_ about this topic without cursing in rage and resentment. Now I was actually _verbalizing_ all these memories of pent up anguish, without so much as raising my voice. I had no reason to stall yet, and could open more for the time.

"Your altercation at the train stop proved such." Terra leaned beside me against the tree trunk. "Though you were losing your composure toward the end of it. When that woman started giving me shit, you lost it in full."

"Well, she had to fuck with my heroine for being a heroine. That had nothing to do with my father crimes, so it was beyond intolerable."

Terra's eyes flashed with a new kind of twinkle. "So if you were the unwanted son, what were your siblings like?"

"My brother was Darum." I felt my jaw tighten. Years had passed since I'd last spoken that name in reference to that person. Bile almost formed in my throat whenever I tried. But I now had resolution. If I were to progress beyond contempt, I had to pull off what I avoided for so long. "Five years my senior, he was the oldest, and as you can imagine, dad offered him the spoils. He was the Gurosawn heir, as Quentir was heir to the Braslino riches. My brother was quite popular among dad's cronies, who made his life as comfortable as they made my life agonizing."

Terra ran a finger along the carob's rough bark. "In short, your brother was much like your dad."

"In many ways, yes. In other ways, worse." I put my hand on her tracing finger. "I need not go into the specifics of what he did. It's another story in of itself." I could discuss my brother, but the specifics of his despicable acts were still something I wanted kept under the table for now.

Terra took hint. "What of your mom and sister? You said your father and Darum passed away in the great collapse, but you said nothing about the rest of your immediate family."

"There's little to discuss about my mother. She was a mouse, if that. She was so awed by my father, she did little more than agree with everything he said, probably because he supplied her with money to feed her drinking problem. Apparently she binged to death while I was away at the mining school. I learned it two months after the fact. She wasn't a vile person, but she had few good qualities, as she drowned her personality in liquor. There's nothing else to say."

I knew Terra's next question before she voiced it. "And your sister?"

There was much more to this part, at least there could've been. But if that were so, I knew nothing of it. I could only explain what I knew, and that was plenty by itself. "Sis was two years my senior. Though she wasn't heir to the riches, she was granted a spoil or two, though this VIP treatment came with some sheltering. She was spoiled, yet overly-protected at the same time. She came to resent my father, though for much different reasons than I."

I stayed quiet and let Terra speak, knowing she'd inevitably ask a question or two. "Was your relation with her a miserable one?"

"I wouldn't say that. It was a relation of very mixed feelings." I shoved my hands in my pockets, reflecting on these long-buried thoughts. "Of my close family, she was really the only person I cared about, the only person I can praise. I think she cared about me a little, despite her own matters. Eventually, she became fed up. She claimed I wasn't proactive enough for my own good and the like. Maybe there was truth in them, now that I reflect upon her sayings. After a while, she grew disgusted with the repressive environment at home. At seventeen, she ran away." I faced Terra to conclude tale, inconclusive though it was. "I've not heard from her in nine years."

_change in n_

I stared into Leonard's pale blue eyes. For all the time I'd known him, he'd been a mystery. The man rarely talked about himself, not because of humility but because of hurt, and a drive to break from the past. "So you've no idea if she's alive or dead."

"Every so often I think about it." Leonard rested his chin upon his thumbs. "But I know it's moot. If she is alive, she's moved on. I can only hope she's happy. I've no idea where she went after leaving this town. When I let myself wonder, I always reach the same conclusion. It's pointless to consider." He stepped away form the tree trunk. "Dead or alive, she moved on, an example I should follow."

I let all this information sink in. Leonard revealed memories he largely wished to keep secret and forget. He wouldn't open up to just anyone, not with memories like this. I was finally helping him to break the wall he'd built between himself and the outside world.

Most of what he shared was better left buried, but he wasn't completely negative regarding his family. I pursued the only redeeming trait from his tale. "Maybe it's not pointless. If she's alive, she might think about you. Have you ever tried searching for her?"

"Terra, if she really wanted to reconnect, I think she'd have come back to Narshe. Five years passed between her leaving and the great collapse. That's plenty of time. She had money, so that wasn't a problem. She made a break from her upbringing and never looked back. I don't know where to begin searching. She could be anywhere after nine years, assuming she's alive. The best I can do now is make like she did, and leave the past to rot." He paced about as he spoke, walking to the other side of the tree. "Come on. Let's live for the present and explore this campus." I took his outstretched hand, and we continued through the Spethald grounds.

We came upon a large building at the campus's east side. It was a multi-purpose structure. Signage called it a gymnasium, but inside we found various actors practicing their stage parts. Mock swordfights were the most common drill at the moment. Leonard and I took seats overlooking the sunken floor. His eyes were on the performers practicing stage combat, but I had no doubts that his mind was still on his family.

I had my own share of thoughts on that subject, though they remained unspoken for now. Leonard had given up on finding his sister. Presuming she died in the great collapse was a rational theory, but there was no solid proof of it. If she was alive, I couldn't help but wonder if she was thinking about him. Her refusal in coming back to Narshe could've been for unrelated reasons. Maybe she was ashamed to come back to the town divided by her father. Additionally, when the great collapse befell the world, Narshe was overrun with feral hostilities. Only after Kefka's death was the town rendered inhabitable once more. The great collapse killed Darum and Julus Gurosawn. Leonard's sister could've assumed he was also a casualty. Ironically, he was presuming such about her.

Regardless, there was no way to determine what became of her. Or was there a means to search for the woman, something Leonard had long since written off as meaningless?

I sat with Leonard as we watched the combat drills. That refreshed my memory. I could start a new discussion topic, irrelevant to Leonard's past.

_change in s & n_

The last time only one of us managed our store in Quildern, I'd left to train with Relm and Sabin. Locke stayed behind. It was my turn to manage the shop and his turn for a day in the capital. He left to purchase new supplies in Figaro City, and pay Joe a visit. The day's work shift had just concluded, and it was still light at this hour. I grabbed my Strato from home and boarded the eastbound train. Instead of riding into the mountains though, I departed at the last stop and made for the wooded hillside on foot.

I shoved my blade into a worn tree trunk, stepped back a few paces, and reached for it. When I last attempted this technique under Ziegfried's eye, the stray weapon only moved a couple feet. I gazed at my fingers, and the inert Strato beyond them. The exercise involved concentration, forging a mental link between myself and my weapon. I repeated the steps in my mind and thought only of my sword beyond my grasp.

Less than a minute of staring at the blade did the trick. The Strato was pulled from the rotting wood and flew in my direction, pommel side first. It wasn't slow by any means, but not so fast that I couldn't react.

Unfortunately, the Strato fell to the ground inches before my feet, failing to cross the full distance to my hand. It was a considerable improvement from last time, encouragement to try harder next opportunity. Content, I reached down and picked up the blade. Having spent enough time on the retrieval exercise, it was time for a new technique.

Well, it wasn't really new. I'd seen it before in a weapons demo back in Vector. As a magitek knight, my specialty was magic. I gave this non-magical technique little consideration. But the man who used it rejected magic, placing all his confidence in spirit-powered swordplay. Despite never using it, I knew the basic premise. General Leo discussed his specialized 'Shock' technique with from me time to time. I'd forgotten about it, until Ziegfried mentioned his own similar techniques. Shock was now a prime interest.

The general idea was the same; charging the weapon with a piece of my own essence. I needed to concentrate and envision the results. Still ambitious from the distance weapon grab I'd just pulled off (almost), imagining the Shock attack would be far more convenient.

This hillside region at the edge of town was removed from civilization enough. I wouldn't attract attention out here. And there were plenty of natural objects to practice upon. A large jagged rock the size of a carriage would fulfill that purpose. I stared it down, aiming my sword point at the rock piece and making some pass motions. Shock was largely a thrusting move. Basic stab moves were the ideal warm-up.

I continued channeling my inner self into my weapon. It would take a longer charge for Shock than for a distance retrieval, but I wasn't a stranger to spirit-channeling anymore. The Strato grew warm, almost tingly in my hands.

With the boulder in my sights, I stepped forward and pushed out. Nothing happened, except the sword's tingle sensation faded. I'd spent the charged energy, which hadn't been plentiful enough to create a Shock Thrust. Since I didn't feel winded or nauseas, I could try once more.

Holding my sword with two hands, I charged it with more internal energy, this time doubling the charge duration. The sword handle was tingling again, and it felt a little warm. I leveled the blade, aimed, and shoved forth.

This time, something happened. A gold transparent funnel burst from the Strato tip. The image slammed into the boulder and widened on impact, producing waling noises of a low volume and pitch. At the center of impact, a break formed in the stone, branching out in various directions like a spider web crack. The image faded, and the Strato lost it warm radiance. The spreading crack remained though. Obviously, this was a dwarfed-down version of the real deal. A full-on Shock would've cut the boulder into thirds or quarters…and would require a much longer spirit charge. How Leo channeled so much energy in the small times that he did was lost on me.

The sun was going down. Happy to deduce an old swordplay technique, I sheathed my blade and walked to the nearest city streets. Next time I trained with Ziegfried, I'd compare the Shock to the gladiator's Hyper-drive.

_change in s & n_

"What's new from the Minister?" Jim asked while organizing the cabinets in the first floor laundry room.

Upon returning from Segolienne, we 'released' our captive. We let Iradmiud Gorukean off in a northern district at the base of the hills. The kidnapping story would perpetuate, with a new twist; Iradmiud was able to escape while his captors argued with each other. An abandoned warehouse was the alleged location of captivity, hence why we released him at the district in question. Since then, he'd contacted us with letters. No one questioned his kidnap-and-escape story. The House was preoccupied with greater affairs.

I swept dust off the floor. "He was able to convince the House that General Aelchass's brigade was killed by a clandestine unit of Marandans who took the sea and were ready to besiege Albrook, when they clashed with Aelchass and his company. Not that he conceived such an idea himself. We put him up to it." I gave Jim a wink.

"So you found a means to blame Maranda for your accomplishments." Jim lined bottles of floor cleaner and powdered soap along one shelf. "This more than implies that Albrook would be the Maranda's next target."

I laughed. "With Albrook 'fighting' a Marandan unit, The House will be rather disinterested in waging campaigns to the south. Last I heard, they were hell bent on striking Fort Nolbierros to the west."

"Yes, in response to the Nadreloitt breach." Jim threw an empty box into the garbage. "Word of such ambition travels through military-controlled assets like the machinery plant. I told Baokiydu and the Corporal, but I'm not sure if you heard. There's a reason why House Virnone's been so aggressive in the last few months." He closed a cupboard door and gave me a look of intent. "The Earl is on his death bed. The House wants all enemies of Gestahlian rule neutralized before Bantriue's passing. Ever since his wife Lady Podrevia died in the great collapse, the Earl's health has been withering gradually. Now, he's almost expired."

Ambrose and Baokiydu were upstairs at the radio, updating Albrook regarding our activities and discoveries since we'd come back from Segolienne four days ago. "They want all enemies gone so the heir can start with a clean slate. It makes sense. The heir is Lord Chadimus." Thinking of him brought his younger brother to mind. "That means Lord Brofias inherits nothing. We mentioned him in our talk with Iradmiud. The Minister claims Brofias is vindictive, hot-headed, and greedy."

"If that is true, it could pose a problem for his brother, came the Earl's death." Jim cleared an entire shelf. "But the military campaign is a foremost concern. It won't conclude until after Bantriue passes. I'd be more focused on our side's operations and counterstrikes to Tzen's, but as you know, I'm really not much use in combat. These don't work well in head-to-head fights." Jim opened his mouth to reveal his augmentation, teeth that could sharpen, and inject poisons into their bite victims. "They're not even the most practical in stealth ops, and don't get me started on my physical stature."

Though Jim's augmentation gave him sharpened teeth that could generate fatal poisons, it didn't provide him with much else, certainly not a cure to his hereditary illness. "You've been more than helpful to us, not just since we came here last month, but even before then. We learned so much from your inside connection. You passed us information about those sphere-launching artillery canons. Just do what you can."

Jim cupped his hands to his mouth and coughed. "Always. If my health should fail me anytime soon, my place is yours."

I swept more dirt into the dustpan, emptying it into the trash bin. "If I ever come back here, I'll keep that in mind."

As I placed the broom and dustpan in the laundry room's corner, Baokiydu entered. "Jim. Ajalni. We just finished the radio transmission. We gave HQ a meaty update on our affairs here, and got plenty regarding activities down in Albrook."

"What's new down there?" Jim beat me to the question.

"Plenty. Though House Virnone currently believes Maranda played a role in killing off Aelchass's brigade, Ruqojjen and Yithadri aren't leaving that belief up to chance in full. A garrison has been dispatched to Culmstropp, to intercept would-be spies coming from this direction. They're also beefing up defense against Maranda. Lenshelgh is also getting militarized." Lenshelgh was an Albrooker city west of the namesake capital. Like Culmstropp, it had been ravaged and neglected amid the wars between Tzen, Albrook, and Maranda. We Nyufalng were revitalizing the place, something the ruling House of Albrook never did.

The Sensorian elaborated on Lenshelgh's garrison-in-progress. "Guess who's part of the team; Uletarsji."

Baokiydu didn't sneer that name, contrary to my expectation. I was a little puzzled. "Uletarsji. The world-class fuck whose failure was welcome, only because he failed at something which was never authorized? Why?"

"He and his companion Chiupanghow are quite formidable in air and on water," clarified the Sensorian. "They're being used to thwart any Marandan navy ships that might sail our way. The Duke and his legions are powerful, but they're less charismatic than our other foes. Marandan naval troops are fully disposable. If they get anywhere near Lenshelgh, the duo will aide in lethal counter measures."

I shrugged. "Well, as long as they're on defensive roles only, with watchful eyes upon them. What's new with the isolated special catch?"

"He's still in a coma-like stasis. I didn't get too many details, but his use will be much different than the usual augmentation. He won't be a recipient, but a very special donor." Baokiydu said nothing else, likely because he knew nothing else.

"Well, he should feel very special, if he ever learns what's in store for him," I joked. "What's our next objective?"

"Gather some intel on the pending strike against Fort Nolbierros." He glanced at Jim. "Working in a factory beneath their control, that shouldn't be too hard. Ajalni, you and Ambrose need to get in touch with Iradmiud Gorukean once more."

"We've not been in contact since the day before yesterday. In his last letter, he said something was up, but didn't know what exactly was going down."

Beyond the doorway was the hall. The Corporal's voice sounded from the stairs within. "I'm going to check for the paper again." Indeed something was up. Normally the newspaper was on the doorstep in time for breakfast, yet it was almost dinnertime and there still hadn't been a delivery. Something kept the media from publishing its regular gossip.

"So is the plan to weaken Tzen's army so Maranda can pick them off?" I wasn't sure about our next step.

"Got it," came Ambrose's voice from the other end of the house. The closing of the front door followed.

So did a surprise a moment afterward. "Fucking a'!"

There was something is the stoic Corporal's voice that caught us all off guard. Jim frowned in confusion while Baokiydu squinted. Even his larger eye narrowed as he tried ingesting the Corporal's strange tone. Something was up for sure. Ambrose walked into the laundry room, slowly and purposefully, the unfolded news paper in his hands. "The media can lie about so much, but they'd never lie about this."

He showed us the front page article of the newspaper that was delivered hours behind schedule. The front page story said it all, as did my exclamation. "Oh my fucking…shit!"

_change in s & n_

Another part of town had been re-plumbed, the money for labor in said part having been collected in full once the next section was a quarter finished, and Cid's weaponry techs were hard at work on their newest inventions. They were actually developing two new additions to Figaro's arsenal, not one as I'd last heard.

All things considered, everything was progressing smoothly. I had a chance to practice my newfound lancing style. Dragoon boots on my feet and Aura Lance in my grip, I looked over the improvised practice target. The frozen chunk of meat was hardly different from the last time I stabbed it, save for the dents in its armor plate covering. I ran my fingers over my spear's shaft and breathed, channeling myself into my weapon, and my boots to a lesser extent. The Dragoon boots enhanced footwork more so than pike attacks, but worked best when combined with soul-charged lancing techniques.

As to be expected, the Aura Lance was emitting some radiance. It was 'filled' with my inner essence. I stared down the frozen meat slab and charged, my boots doing their job and boosting my running speed. I aimed for one particular piece of armor plating, curious to see how the technique would fare against the target's most durable section.

The boom was spectacular, as were the sparks that burst upon contact. They exploded like a firework as the square shard of armor bent inwards. Water dripped from behind the metallic plate, ice melting beneath. The armor square was sinking inwards.

Despite executing this powerful straight-on thrust, the lance was still radiating with energy. I could spend it on a follow-up strike, so I raised it to my side, swinging for the slashing attack. The side of the lance tip buried itself in another plate shard, a bright gold image trailing its motion. The impact caused another boom, and another spark shower. A second plate was deformed, a long horizontal gash cut across its surface, glowing orange from the intense friction. The gashed square came loose from the iced meat pile.

And the Aura Lance's tip was no different than before, unscathed. I wasn't weary this time. I could stand without leaning on my weapon or Cyan's shoulder. Speaking of the General, he stood behind me, clapping. "Marvelous, nothing less than what's fitting to the King of Figaro. Next time, the armor pieces may break beneath such punishment."

I twirled the lance in my right hand. "That's the plan. Practice makes perfect, and perfect means progress."

"Speaking of progress, how goes the latest region of plumbing additions?" Though he wasn't involved with utility business, Cyan was no doubt interested in the work flow of the pipe system's major overhaul.

"So far, it's all going as I'd hoped, despite the increased taxation. I've heard no objections myself, and the Guild hasn't passed any my way. We paid the Guild workers in full for the last completed area. A measly eight percent lagged behind the job's completion. Surely the next back payment will be a similar amount once the pending area is complete."

"Is the new patrol for Narshe in place, Sire?" Cyan glanced over his shoulder when speaking of the town.

"Absolutely." Since the moogles were overworked with mining tasks, they'd gotten lax on security. Shedairah's demise put a burden on the mines in the city, to compensate for its loss. That combined with Umaro's rumored laziness forced the moogles to double their usual efforts. Joe's accidental bypassing of their defenses was the result. The cave-dwellers needed a hand, so I informed Governor Hoff of the matter. Soldiers from the town were now patrolling the mines, leaving the moogles to better manage the industrial tasks.

"Any word from Professor Marquez and his weapon development team?"

"You're the General, Cyan. If you don't know, I don't." I laughed lightly. Cyan just put on a quiet smile. "Both new battle innovations will be unveiled when the time is right. I didn't think you were all that into machine technology."

"Times are changing fast, King Edgar. As Doma was evolving slowly before its downfall, your great kingdom progresses too. I have learned to adapt." Machines were still my specialty, but Cyan wasn't so lost on munitions tech as he once was. "Shall we partake in the next drill?" Cyan fingered the hilt of his blade with anticipation.

I grabbed a mail vest and dueling mask from a bench nearby. "Why not." Cyan followed my example, drawing his Sky Render after donning the protective gear.

Ziegfried has able to anticipate the pattern of Cyan's form. Now I wished to experiment for myself. Could I predict and guard against Cyan's blows as the veteran gladiator did? I gripped my spear in both hand and took a defensive stance. Cyan took cue and moved in.

Curved sword and pole arm met with a clash. I twisted my weapon to the side, only to fall into the motion of Cyan's parry. With an instinctive twirl, I blocked his katana with my lance's shaft. Instead of flowing with or pushing against my motion, Cyan stepped back. He lifted the Sky Render overhead and stepped up for downward chop. I countered by stepping in, meeting his blade just as it started coming down. The older knight broke to my left, his weapon sliding off my lance tip. He raised his arm for a quick outward slash. I held my weapon vertically and pushed forward to block, the spear shaft bashing into the Sky Render just over the hilt. Just as quickly, Cyan stepped right, swinging horizontally from shoulder level.

At that angle, I could neither retreat nor block. Knowing the height of this latest blow, I took a different evasive action. My knees buckled, and his sword cut the air above me. Before Cyan's arch completed, I raised my lance and pushed upward from my kneeling posture. The Doman's sideways cut didn't follow through as I'd predicted. He changed the direction. The curved blade came down, stopping the Aura Lance's head, and pushing it sideways. With such an opening, Cyan did what any practical fighter would, lifted the weapon over his shoulder in preparation for a vertical chop.

Using the lance's length, I pushed against the hard floor of the training room. This combined with my own momentum hurled me into an evasive roll away from the katana blade. I was back on my knees as the forged steel edge cut into the ground. Using my weapon's long size for a different purpose, I thrust forward again, this time going for the shoulder.

Rather than stand after missing his chop strike, Cyan flowed with the movement, falling into a crouch of his own. My lance pierced nothing but this air, before the Sky Render came up from the side and knocked it askew. My mark was off, buy my hold remained. I recoiled from the long-reaching thrust move and stood, Cyan reassuming his own battle stance in unison.

We squared off for a moment, until I charged the Doma Knight with spinning movements. I advanced upon him, and he stood inert, studying the patterns of my lance twirl, seeking the best split-second opportunity to interrupt the windmill slashes. He bent his knees and stepped up, sword in front at a parallel angle. He'd found a gap and disrupted the spinning pattern, the Sky Render coming in to halt the Aura Lance. No sooner did my weapon bash against his did I sway back, narrowly evading Cyan's diagonal cut.

The natural reaction would be to pull a counter hit before he recoiled from this whiffed attack. However, as we'd both tried this moments ago, I held myself for that crucial millisecond, allowing Cyan to complete his motion. Sure enough, he swung out for a counterstrike that never came. While he parried high, I dropped to my knees and thrust low, aiming for his knee, but stopping myself before getting to close.

The General stood motionless while staring down at my spear tip merely inches from his knee. Finally, Cyan removed his protective mask. "Impressive, my Liege. A well-planned and skillfully-placed counterstrike that I hadn't considered. As I said, your talent with the lance is only fitting to your kingly profession." He sheathed his weapon as I withdrew mine. "Though bear in mind, were this a real duel, piercing the kneecap would not be a killing blow. Still, it can set the ground for one by crippling the enemy's footwork potential."

I pulled off my own headgear. "You had me for quite a while there Cyan. You didn't just _let_ yourself be open like that. I had to seek and plan for it."

"Yes, Sire. I wasn't trying to hold back. I only mean that if you can pin me like such, you're worthy to bear that weapon, not to mention the crown." Cyan was not humble or modest at all, merely observant.

"I wasn't going in full force," I admitted. "All I used were basic spear techniques. It would've been very different had I used Dragoon techniques."

Cyan was un-phased. "And I would've countered with Doman sword arts. The results would've been exactly the same, as your arts and mine would cancel each other out."

Would they? I had limited knowledge of the Dragoon techniques. For all I knew, they were more versatile than the Doman swordplay style.

"You're a man of many talents, King Edgar. You will see this nation into the future," Cyan went on. "When these demonic breeds return, they shall feel your wrath, channeled through a Dragoon spear."

"You know, it's funny you say that. The super monsters are no menial subject, but the greatest challenge as of recent has not been monster-related. Rebuilding this town's plumbing network has been more of a strain than those evolved monsters. I'm not ripping up city streets and excessively taxing my people because of any wildlife. Shedairah and the lab incidents were just that, not a prolonged process like the waterworks utility upgrade." I sung the Aura Lance downwards against the floor. "In some ways, a fight is easier than managing politics."

Cyan put an arm on my shoulder. "If you can accomplish a city-wide project as you are right now, surely a breed of monsters will be a pushover."

I should've felt uplifted, but for whatever reason I could not absorb Cyan's words as full truth. He was trying to be optimistic, and I'd never fault him for such, but with the uncertainty surrounding these monsters, downplaying them as such felt unwise. I'd long-since deduced there were facts I didn't know.

Nonetheless, I took Cyan's vote of confidence to heart. "Yes. These monsters may be smart, but I'm still smarter. They're not invincible. Sure, they could negate the Aurabolt blitz, but swords, arrows, and dynamite got the job done where only one blitz move failed." My own words served as encouragement. "While progress is slow, it's been steady. Money is still coming in for the new piping. And I've got weapon skills and technological military gadgets under my thumb. The new stuff should be test-ready is short order."

Thinking of my assets cleared the questions from my mind, for now.

_change in s & n_

A woman stood at the counter of our vending stall, eyeing a trinket. "I'll take that one."

Locke grabbed the piece in question and presented it to the buyer, naming the price. She paid in full, and slipped on her new purchase. "I knew that gem arrangement would turn heads," said Locke as the woman strode to another window in the plaza building. "Joe sure knows his stuff."

The previous day, Locke had gone to the capital. Not only did he stock up on new accessories for our treasure trove, he paid Joe a visit, for more than just purchasing cut stones. I filled empty hooks on a display rack with newly-polished articles of jewelry, some of which contained gems sold by Joe himself. "Did you get a chance to ask your question?"

"About Joe's friend Bren? Yes I did." Another customer came up, interested in a platinum ring with a diamond-shaped topaz. Locke gave the man his choice piece, and the buyer went on his way. "I learned that Bren sent Joe a letter in the mail. According to Joe, Bren is back home, having recovered from the tapeworm."

"That's good news." I placed some hair clips on the rack. Two teenage girls came up, one looking for a pearl necklace and the other a jeweled coronet. We just happened to have both their desires in stock. Once they left with their purchases, I asked Locke "Did you engage in other conversations?"

Locke tilted his head. "Well…I asked about Bren, how they met, what he does, all that stuff."

"And? What did Joe say?"

"Bren is a sculptor of sorts. None of his work is on public display. They met when Joe lived here. He purchased stuff from Bren a few times, usually urns and statues to decorate with gems." Locke watched passers-by come and go, ready to greet any who stopped at our window. When none of them did, he went on. "I asked if Bren might be interested in stuff that we sell, but he lives far from this district."

"So scratch that idea." I emptied a box of products. Bracelets, circlets, and various other treasures hung before me, ready to be viewed by the local public.

"I was kinda thinking about that myself, until…" Locke paused, as though he was unsure of something, or uneasy. "I asked about where Bren lives. Joe didn't say."

I was about to respond when a young woman came to the window. I put on a smile and showed her the rack of merchandise. She chose a bronze medallion with an egg-shaped ruby in the center. After she thanked us, paid, and walked off, I faced Locke. "Does that surprise you?"

I thought he'd see it in those terms, but for reasons I couldn't grasp, Locke found this puzzling. "Yes. It's surprising. Joe knows me. I'm no stranger. Far from that, I'm a Returner. Bren should at least know who I am, even if there's no acquaintanceship. I even mentioned this, but Joe still refused."

"Of course he did." I wasn't trying to be condescending, though I might've sounded such with my tone. "You don't know Bren, even if he probably knows about you. Joe isn't going to offer his friend's living location to anyone Bren doesn't know, even a Returner like you." My hands were on my hips. "I hope you didn't push any further after that."

"As for wanting Bren's address, I didn't. I just asked why Joe was so hesitant in trusting me." Locke didn't sound hurt, yet there was something in his voice I couldn't pin down. He was clearly not satisfied with Joe's answer.

"Locke, I don't believe it's a trust issue. It's merely one of common sense and consideration." I went from a different angle. "Would you want Joe giving out your address to somebody you didn't know? Sure, you're a famous Returner and all, but you'd still want privacy. Being well-known as you are, privacy should be an even greater concern for you than for someone like Bren."

A man stopped by our counter. We halted our chat while he browsed our stock. As he was selecting a bracelet with square-cut onyx stones, a young boy dropped by to see our wares. He was only interested in browsing though, and left without making a purchase. "I'll give you that much," conceded Locke "But I still find it weird. I thought Joe would've mentioned us in letters to Bren, and Bren would jump at the chance to meet us in person."

"Maybe Joe did reference us, and I too would think a merchant in town would be excited to know a pair of Returners run a business here. But maybe Bren's not interested. It's his prerogative if he wants to buy from us or not."

Locke scratched his chin. "Maybe. It just feels weird. It's one of those nagging questions. I felt the same when learning that Joe sold precious stones in Kohlingen, a town with minimal demand for such a product, and how Joe once lived here without knowing of the high local demand for what he sells."

I narrowed my eyes. "Locke, are you _still_ harping on that? It's not even a current matter. Give it up already."

Locke was spared a lecture, and I was spared giving him one. A family of four appeared at our storefront, a middle-aged couple with their teen daughter and preteen son. They sampled our stash, very interested in hair bands and a newly-cleaned up watch. They paid us for all their new finds. As Locke stowed away the currency, he said, "I'm only comparing this current revelation with that previous one. I don't know why it feels odd. It just does."

At least he wasn't obsessing on past affairs this time. "It is really worth thinking about like that?" Why did he care so much? The energy he put into thinking about such superficial topics would be better spent on searching for more treasures. I thought about it from one last angle. "Locke, if you're really that curious about Bren, ask Joe where Bren does business. That's far less personal than asking for a residence location."

His face brightened. "You know, I might just do that, when I cross paths with Joe again. Thank you Celes. Where would I be without you?"

I took his hand. "No place worth thinking about." I kissed his cheek, as no would-be shoppers were at the counter.

"No kidding," he agreed. "I'll be sure to ask when I see Joe next."

And that would stop a brewing obsession before it became a real one. Joe had every reason to withhold Bren's residential address, but just as many to share Bren's business location.

_change in s & n_

The entire city of Tzen was, to be quite frank, on hold. Major events would do this, like simultaneous deaths in the royal family.

The delayed newspaper from three days back told such on its front page alone. Earl Bantriue and his son Lord Chadimus has passed away. Little was known, or if it was, hardly any details were shared by the press. The Earl supposedly died in his sleep from heart failure. His body was found in his room by the House's personal nursing staff, dropping by to check on him.

Bantriue's death had a semblance of logic. Chadimus's death was a whole different story. His death was unnatural; he'd fallen from a loft balcony near his private quarters, toppling over the guardrail to his death some sixty feet below, head first.

Jim was upstairs taking a nap. He'd not been feeling well as of late, and the factory was closed for the double memorial, held in a park near the House's private district. Baokiydu, Ambrose, and I sat in the kitchen, eating lunch and reviewing the newest letter from Iradmiud Gorukean. The Cabinet Minister backed up the claims published in the newspaper. We could verify the public story with our inside source, but no new details had emerged since. Iradmiud himself was preoccupied with attending the wake, but he'd dig around when the first chance came. We stayed home. Businesses were all closed, middleclass nobodies like us were free to skip such events, and we hardly mourned the death of Tzenish nobility. We Nyufalng celebrated such events.

I spread peanut butter on my toast. "Will this have any major impact on the House's campaign against Maranda?" If so, we could exploit any weakness in the disrupted political framework.

Ambrose bit into an apple slice. "With Bantriue and Chadimus dead, that makes Brofias the heir. As House Virnone is the only pro-Gestahl power left, that essentially makes Brofias heir to the Empire."

"Iradmiud claimed Brofias covets such power, and would not only abuse it like his predecessors, but use it recklessly, what with his alleged powder keg of a temper." I bit off a mouthful of bread.

Baokiydu swallowed a piece of roasted lunchmeat. "This unforeseen double death worked in his favor, to a fucking t."

Unforeseen? I'd been wondering about a certain prospect. Baokiydu's verbalized analysis of the new happening almost guided me to the last puzzle piece. The two soldiers' argument from the Elporviran bathroom was still fresh in my mind. The Sergeant's denial of Brofias lacking righteous tradition and Iradmiud's claim that Brofias was envious and power-hungry laid the ground for this idea. With the sick Earl dying hours within the unnatural death of his eldest son and royal heir, the puzzle felt complete.

I drank some cola before sharing my theory. "Are you sure these deaths are mere coincidence? Gorukean spoke ill of Brofias, shortly after the man from Elporviran rabidly defended the younger son's character, as if to deny what Gorukean had experienced firsthand. The House heir, a man in perfect health, falls from a balcony no less than a day after his terminally-ill old man kicks the bucket, and the jealous younger brother inherits the royal House, and the fallen Empire it seeks to revive." With another bit of toast, I finished my theory. "I think Brofias did something to cause these deaths, so he'd come out on top."

Baokiydu squinted his eyes. "Well you know what they say. There's no cooperation among the power-hungry, be they street criminals or aristocrats. Ajalni, that idea should be explored."

I turned to Ambrose, who'd been sending out and picking up letters to and from Iradmiud using the post office box, under the alias of Corporal Amroneque. "Gorukean's last letter was two days back." He put his mug down and cut another apple slice. "The mail delivery service should reopen tomorrow. I'll send him a note then. Odds are he's considered that possibility himself. We should ask if he's shared his thoughts with other Cabinet personnel. If they've been threatened like him, they'll be just as eager to overthrow the House, especially if Brofias is disloyal."

In Gorukean's last letter, he mentioned that strong military presence was restricted to this capital and Nadreloitt. When word spread that Marandans had slaughtered Aelchass's brigade before taking on Albrook, the remnants of the Rosseaund garrison were all pulled west to Nadreloitt. Rosseaund was presently ghost town, not unlike Segolienne. The refugees here were being put to use in their respective trades. Old buildings were being demolished with new residential structures taking their place. Security patrols were no longer traversing the gaps between the Tzen and other towns, save for the expanse between here and Nadreloitt.

"I can easily presume the next order of military business." Baokiydu stuffed his mouth with saltine crackers. "The army will no doubt march on Fort Nolbierros, with a vengeance. If Lord Brofias is greedy as rumors claims, he'll spare not a moment in crushing the Duke's forces."

"He might even use patriotism to garner support, cooking up some tale that Maranda was responsible for the deaths of his dad and brother to throw any potential suspicion off himself." The Corporal smirked. "Oh well, it's better than blaming us."

I finished a toast slice. "You know, I can see him doing that, even if he didn't kill anyone. Conservatism is a prime ingredient in Tzenish patriotism. These traditionalists don't want anything to change. Loyalists will buy into what Brofias tells them, no questions asked."

"Tell me about." Ambrose stabbed into the core of his apple. "I grew up around blind patriotism. Nothing's changed since. It's so rife, bitter feuds erupt between relatives. Families find themselves torn apart, divided between those who kiss government ass and those who don't. I've heard of marriages failing and cases of estrangement breaking out, couples and even siblings clashing over whether the government's right or not."

Baokiydu chewed another meat slab. "Schisms like that could work in our favor. If the military is fighting Maranda outside and enough shit breaks out here in town, who'll subdue the local mayhem? When the march on Nolbierros commences, local army staff should be thinner. We could try instigating a little counter-culture revolution." He was planning ahead, genius that he was. If only his down time patience could match his IQ.

Ambrose expanded on that idea. "Some patriots are so blind, they'll sing praises to the government, even as the House poisons their food in plain sight. Such ignorance could be used against them, used as a means to rally anti-House Virnone sentiments."

"You're the native," acknowledged Baokiydu between cracker bites. "You know how to get the job done."

"If Brofias ultimately kills his own lemmings, it would surely spark disgust in the public at large. The defection rate would skyrocket exponentially," I pondered aloud. "I'm actually hoping he does kill off some of his own people. It'll sway the public against him that much more, and kill off some more automatons in the process, sparing us the hassle."

"I like everything you said Ajalni, but first, we have to ascertain that Brofias actually killed his brother and the Earl," Ambrose pointed out. "These double deaths are too precise to be coincidence, but we need something to suggest there was foul play involved. Even Iradmiud hasn't checked coronary reports. He should look into that. Once he finds something to invoke skepticism, we can go from there." The Corporal looked upwards toward the second floor, where the radio gear was placed. We'd contacted Albrook upon ascertaining the two noblemen's deaths, but not since. "It's too early for a transmission to HQ. When we learn something new from the Cabinet Minister, we'll share it with base."

"Turn the people against their master and his lemmings." Baokiydu narrowed his eyes. "If House Virnone and its lackey want to revive Gestahlian customs, we can send em' all to meet him personally." His palm spikes extended from his hands in swift movements. "That's the beauty of fighting enemies with subhuman minds like them. Give no quarter, forfeit all negotiations, fuck the treaties, and just kill."

"Why the hell not?" The Corporal shrugged and sliced off more apple chunks. "Enemies are not friends, or neutrals for that matter. Rules of engagement never apply to hostiles, and the unthinking masses are no less malicious than a wise, plotting schemer."

Something was on my mind again as of late. "Did Albrook receive any word from Sergeant Tanrevilt?"

Ambrose bit into an apple slice. "In fact, he did contact them last week. His new objective remains, among others. Though he encountered a slight problem, he's working around it. He knows what do to."

_change in s & n_

"So you met Terra again?" Sabin leaned back on one of the benches against the dojo's wall.

"That I did, at the Spethald Academy. That makes three, following the art gallery and the meal at Ghearn's. When we last met, she said you wanted me here for something special, to commemorate by blitz progress or something. At least that's I interpreted." But was I perhaps wrong? I was here, just as Sabin requested through Terra, and we did nothing but sit on the benches up till now. Surely the blitz master didn't want me here for a lounging session. "So, are we going to do this, or is being lazy the whole point of my presence?"

Sabin chuckled heartily, his usual manner of doing such. "Leonard, it's not quite time yet." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "It should only be a few minutes more."

"Why the holdup," I asked, curious.

"You'll see." Sabin drank another glass of Relm's lemonade, leaving me in the dark once more.

The creaking of the doors broke the silence. Someone had joined us. Maybe that was the meaning behind Sabin's hints. I looked at the training room doorway. A very ambitious Terra greeted us. "Leonard. You made it."

"Yes. We've done nothing up to this point." I frowned sarcastically at the martial arts expert. "Nothing but ask questions and give the runaround answers."

Sabin stood, placing a hand on Terra's shoulder. "I beat around the bush no more. It's time for a retest, another comparison of your full combat skills."

I couldn't say coherent words for a moment, stuttering until I could verbalize my reaction. "You mean I spar with Terra?" I glanced downward. The last time we did this almost four months back, the session ended abruptly with me sitting on the sidelines with aches in my crotch, brought on by Terra's very misplaced front kick, and my own inability to react. "Need I remind you of what happened last time?"

"No you don't. But so much has passed since then. You've both progressed considerably." Sabin left Terra's side and came to me, hands on my shoulders. "At least this time, if things go bad, you'll know to expect a ball breaker," he mused.

"Gee, thanks a fucking lot for hindsight." Somehow, I felt like laughing.

"Leonard, your reluctance is normal, but I have more control now. You should too, what with your own advancing through the techniques." Terra had this look in her eyes, a look of faith and confidence. She believed in me.

Sabin was no different. "After you cut that rock with a slash aura, without fainting mind you, I'd think you'd be more enthused about this, a chance to succeed where you previously failed."

Two world-class Returners were placing trust in my talents. Disappointing them was not an option. "Okay, I should trust myself, given both your votes."

"Excellent. Let's do this." At Sabin's prompt, Terra assumed a combative stance. I took one of my own, knowing that we'd both progressed since the accidental nutcracker. I watched her movement, and was hardly surprised when she pulled a right hook for my jaw. My eyes on her fist, my left hand came up and halted her strike. She dashed back, and chambered another hook, only to drop to her knees before the full extension. This foreshadowed a crouching jab on her part, deflected by a right-hand parry on my behalf. She leaned to the side, following my motion, putting herself in the ideal foot sweep crouch. I leaped back as her foot swung out. She was back on her feet in no time. So far, so good.

Facing off yet again, I took the chance for the preemptive hit. I rushed Terra with a right uppercut, only to have the woman side-step, grab my striking arm, and push me forward, using my own momentum against me. However, focused training had me twisting away from her grasp a split second after her fingers touched down. I spun in time to see her elbow coming in for my neck. My palm shoved out and stopped her motion. She recoiled her arm, dashed back once more, and lifted her right leg.

This was it, this was the very move that took me down last time, accidental though it was. Because of that, my eyes were open for strikes below the belt. My palm shot out, pushing against her ankle before her leg straightened in full.

"Bravo." Sabin stressed his amazement while clapping his hands. "See, what'd I tell you? Progression. I believe you could do it again. Terra, try some more."

My sparring partner was plenty eager to follow that idea. "If you can predict and block it once, you can surely do again."

"I plan on it. Enemies won't go easy on you when the stakes are for real." My enthusiasm matched hers.

That was a good thing, for she came at me not two seconds after I gave the okay. Her foot came up for a side kick to my chest area. I once again brought my hand up to deflect the blow. With grace and agility, Terra cart-wheeled off my hand. Once back on her feet, she rushed forward a second time, stepping in to deliver a full force elbow swing. Instead of blocking, I ducked, taking advantage of her strike's height. While this fully evaded her elbow, she followed through with a mid-level roundhouse using her spinning momentum. At my kneeling posture, her foot was coming toward my ear. Reflexively, I lifted my hand to block.

She knew variety. Her leg bent once my palm contacted her shin, moving past my hand before I could even think of standing. Now her foot was directly in front of my face. Again on reflex, I raise my other hand to guard. She put in a lot of force though, and even blocking I was sent backwards to the floor. My back fell upon the dojo's carpet, but this was a background detail as I rolled to my left, evading Terra's downward flat palmed blow. She slapped the rug as I got to my feet. Before she rose to her full height, I charged with a side kick of my own.

Both her hands pushed against my kicking foot before I realized it. By the time I knew she's lifted my leg upwards, I was already tumbling back once again. My ass hit the carpet first, with my back and feet doing such right afterward. I could only sit up a few inches before Terra was upon me, reaching forward in a spear-hand formation, her nimble fingers just above my neck. "I take you down again Leonard, but this time it's no accident."

"This time, your losing to a girl is the real deal." Sabin's voice bore no mockery, but it wasn't just an objective analysis.

"I lose to a _very special_ girl," I clarified. "There's no shame in losing to one who's earned it."

Terra formed a vague smile and stepped back. "You know, if you can face defeat like that, it's not really a loss."

"Not here, nor in a contest of sportsmanship. But in a real fight, a loss is nothing to just shrug off," I said while getting back up.

"In a real fight, I've got so many tricks to keep that from happening." Terra looked at the dojo wall and charged, jumping against it and leaping off. In midair, she delivered not one but two spinning kicks.

"In a real fight, you need not worry about hurting your sparring partner," I pointed out. "In fact, sometimes that's the whole objective, using deadly force to stop the enemy. As we saw with that gigantic turtle in the Shedairah mine, overkill wasn't quite enough."

"Oh come on Leonard. Only two sticks of dynamite were needed to crack its shell. What would three have accomplished?" Sabin winked.

Terra provided a realistic answer to his joke question. "Something on par with the new weapons in development by Cid's research team." She straightened her ponytail. "I hear one of them is nearing completion."

"Big bro will reveal his new toy when it reaches a usable stage. Until then, we should hone our other skills and talents." Sabin gestured at the doors to the training yard. "I've some new drills for both of you."

The session went on with these new exercises. Though Terra had knocked me on my ass once more, I felt no shame in it. She was still ahead of me, though by a smaller margin now. Something else was also narrowing, the facts she didn't know about me. Ever since our date at the Spethald campus, I'd come out of the shell in which I'd hidden for years. In time, and I could sense that would be a short time, I could reveal the deeds of my father and brother.

And her questions about my sister invoked something I'd long since ignored.

_change in s & n_

Although certain units were once built into old magitek walkers and sky armors, the bio blaster gas gun was itself a Figaro-crafted weapon of war. The weapon's signature aspect was its widespread dispersion of toxic gas, an inhalant so vile to the bloodstream that any life form engulfed in the gaseous cloud would vomit and even choke on its own poisoned blood, to the point of death in extreme cases. Only monsters with a natural, total immunity to the plant toxin compound used in the gas could step into a cloud and emerge unscathed.

The bio blaster was quintessential in many of our clashes against the Empire. In the second invasion of Narshe, the bio blaster was the exact killing blow for the shield wall formations used by Imperial infantry. Their armor and tightly condensed shields weren't enough to save them from the toxic fumes used in one of my best weapons. I'd almost designed such a weapon with heavily armored foes in mind.

Though it had very high killing potential, the bio blaster presented its own share of flaws. The first was a likelihood of collateral damage. The bio blaster fired weightless gas, and even the most precise aiming wouldn't guarantee that gas would go where the user wanted. Too much gas in a specific area could pose a threat to the weapon's user, not to mention his or her allies who might be close by. And while the means of discharging the gas cloud enabled one to blanket a wide area in a curtain of toxic lime green fumes, it was a wide and short area. The gas didn't have a very effective long range use. The typical crossbow bolt would go over twice the distance as the average bio blast. As the gas traveled, it would thin out and lose its poison factor, ultimately becoming harmless.

Cid claimed he'd found the perfect answer to some of these problems. According to him, it was possible to reach longer ranges with the bio gas, and put it exactly where you wanted it. All this was possible without changing the gas compound itself.

Cyan, Cid, and I had gathered in the outside yard of the military command center with many other Figaro soldiers. The scientist placed his fingers on the handheld artillery cannon before him. "As you can see You Highness, this new model looks rather different from the older kind." Indeed, this new bio blaster was vastly different. First and foremost, there was no gas pack linked to the gun via hose. This new make was just the gun itself.

I studied the new invention. "It's just a cannon, though it's pretty supped up from the old model's gun. Still, where's the gas?"

"That's the new part," explained Cid while reaching into a nearby case. "The gas is here." He produced an egg-shaped metal object the size of his hand. Various grooves and divots lined the object's surface. Clicking a hatch on the gun's rear side, Cid placed the 'egg' within.

I now understood the function of this new piece. "You're loading a cannon ball, or something similar."

The doctor lifted the gun and offered it to me. "As usual, show, don't tell. And the best example comes with a hands-on approach, a long-time favorite of yours, King Edgar."

"You know me well, Professor Marquez." I took the gun and aimed for the clustered group of wood mannequins at the far end of the courtyard, a distance beyond the known bio blast's reach.

"I know your style, and with an easy-to-use weapon like this, you'll easily learn its function." Cid pointed at a dial forward of the gun's chamber section. This dial could adjust the timing of the grenades inside, to properly match their time delay to the target distance. Setting the knob to a lower number would make the grenade discharge two seconds after it was launched. Setting the knob to a higher numeral would delay the gas charge longer, allowing the bomb to traverse greater distances before going off. Eyeing the distance between myself and the target cluster, I set the dial accordingly.

All eyes were on me and the handheld weapon, just as they'd been when I tested the modified lightning cannon. I raised the blaster, aimed, and squeezed the trigger. The grenade burst from the barrel with a loud, sharp 'DAUB' noise akin to pulling a cork from a wine bottle, amplified several times. The egg-shaped bomb spun through the air on a non-stop trajectory to its target group. Once there, it bounced once and spewed pale green toxic clouds in all directions, engulfing an area a dozen feet from end to end. After a moment, the green gas dissipated.

The soldiers began chattering. Cid's onsite lab tech went over to inspect the mannequins after the gas thinned out. They'd rigged all the dummies with sensor gauges that could take readings of the surrounding gas quantity, determining how much gas was discharged in the targeted region. They said all the dummies' gauges carried the desired readout, indicating enough gas was unloaded to kill all would-be enemies in the select location.

"And while the launcher is of little substance by itself, the same cannot be said for the grenades themselves. They can be used independently of the firing device. Should the enemy be amassing up close, just grab one, pull the smallest delay pin, and throw." The doctor pointed at a random soldier in the crowd. He came up and was offered another egg bomb from the case. Cid pointed at the different pins on the side. Pulling the smallest one would set the gas off almost instantly, while pulling the largest would delay the blast. The dial on the cannon must've corresponded with pin-removing mechanisms in the chamber.

The trooper walked over to the gassed dummies, removed the smallest pin, and tossed the device. The bomb went off, without coming from a launcher.

The other soldiers burst into cheering and applause. I smiled, but felt a new kind of doubt as I observed the bio blast grenades and their respective launching unit. Amid the cheers, Cyan noticed my unease. "T'is there a problem Sire? Are you not impressed with the new weapons?"

"Far from it Cyan. I'm pleased beyond expectations with them both." Cid noticed my face and came over. I explained myself to both him and Cyan. "But despite these advancements, I know they come at a price. R&D for new weapons is not cheap. Someone has to pay the bill for resources and experiments. That someone is the civilian taxpayer."

"That goes without saying, King Edgar." Cid looked about in general directions. "The people of this nation, in this town and beyond, understand and accept that fact."

"They're also paying heavily as it is, for the new water works utility system." I pointed at the bomb shooter and the case of poison grenades. "While this new set of weapons will no doubt enhance our military, it comes at the cost of civilian currency, when there's so little to spare. Should we choose to mass produce weapons like the bio bombs and lightning blaster, what would that cost the people?"

Cid was no less optimistic than he was when sharing the grenade launcher. "Is that your worry, that we're increasing the expense of military technology? My Liege, there's a set amount of tax money that goes to military munitions. Nothing has increased regarding such a tax. If anything, we're spending the same amount of money with better results, becoming more practical with our share."

"Such is true, King Edgar," stated Cyan in agreement. "I've discussed the matter with Treasury Minister Larsone. He assured me the tax for military spending has remained the same, despite the increases in plumbing utilities. If you permit such, we can easily mass-produce all these new advancements without stepping up the army expenditures tax."

"Well, that does solve my worry, to a degree." I reached behind my neck. An itch was getting more and more annoying. "But that does nothing to lay my worries about increased plumbing tax to rest. Even with IOUs getting the job done for the moment, intuition tells me they alone won't get this town through to the end of the construction, especially during this spring weather."

"I have faith in you, as I always have." Cid placed a hand on my shoulder. "You know what must be done, and you'll find a means to get it done.

Cyan offered his own share of consolation. "I agree with Doctor Marquez. Your leadership and decision making helped us crush Kefka's denizens and bring forth his downfall. That alone should see you through doubts on this matter."

Cid and Cyan had both voiced their confidence in what I'd done, and what I could do. With their trust, I realized there was something else I could do, and it didn't involve another increase in taxes.

But was it right? Certain people would be affected, even if it was only for the short term. That it wouldn't affect everyone unanimously made it so questionable.


	27. On Crumbling Foundations

**Chapter 27: On Crumbling Foundations**

Having discovered a great deal of Leonard's traumatic history, I'd now reveal such facts to a man who greatly needed to learn them, even if he'd instinctively deny it.

The Narshean Chamber of Office hadn't changed since my last visit some months back. Guards still patrolled the gaps in the building's perimeter wall, with more troops posted at the doors into the building. As a Returner, I was granted access upon identifying myself. Having a close friend in the Senate did wonders, closely rivaling my very Returner status.

_A close friend._ Those very words carried mixed meanings as I climbed the stairs to the building's third floor. In this case, one close friend from years back was at bitter odds with another from more recent times. It was anything but a mutual hatred. The time had finally come to straighten the record for the spiteful companion.

On the third level, I headed for the room in question. After passing political figures and armed guards alike, I found that one door of interest. Light was shining through a semi-circle window directly above the doorway. The office was occupied. Now was my chance. I knocked twice.

"Come in," answered the voice beyond. He was there. I reached for the doorknob and steeled myself. The incident from my previous visit was still fresh in my mind, but personally coming back here refreshed my memory to new levels. Months had passed, but in this moment, it only felt like yesterday. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I'd come this far. Turning back was not an option, and I really didn't want such, even if it were a choice. I turned the knob and opened the door.

"Oh. Good day Terra. I didn't expect to see you." Arvis sat at his desk, a pile of documents stacked beside him. He gestured at the chair nearby. "Make yourself comfortable."

I shut the door and declined his offer. I didn't want to relax more than necessary. This would not be an enjoyable conversation. Any discomfort I felt would be magnified on his end. I approached his desk, hands on hips. "Arvis, it's been a while since we've seen each other. Quite a bit's happened since then. I want to talk with you."

My voice was objective, and Arvis took note. How long he'd keep that demeanor remained to be seen. "Why of course. What's on your mind?" He folded his hands and looked at me with undivided attention.

Dragging this out wouldn't do either of us any good. I got straight to the point. "I want to address your feelings about Leonard."

The Senator cringed, and stared out a window that overlooked the building's interior courtyard. After a moment or two, he faced me with a somber look. "Are you totally ignorant of his family background?"

"Not at all. His father was a corrupt businessman, and his older brother was the designated heir to the business. Their partners were Nicola and Quentir Braslino, and Major Bozwensc was their personal military contact. Leonard told me all these facts himself." I'd not only quoted Leonard, I'd probably taken words right from Arvis's mouth.

Indeed he was silent, frowning in his chair. At last he spoke up. "If you know that much, you should know they ran a dishonest business." He leaned in, his voice taking a sharp edge. "Many legitimate companies were forced into liquidation thanks to Julus Gurosawn. In case you didn't know, mine was but one casualty."

"I do recall you saying that your old company went bankrupt when I was a child, yes."

Arvis tightened his fist. His knuckles whitened. "And now you understand why. The Gurosawn family pillaged it to hell, and when it ran dry, they preyed on the next company of their choice. The Braslinos were part of it, and Major Bozwensc shared his ill-earned bribes to keep military staff in their pockets, but Julus Gurosawn masterminded the whole scheme." Until now, Arvis remained completely civil. But all that changed when he slapped his palm against his hardwood desktop. Loud as it was, I expected it. "You DARE mention his child's name in my presence, going so far to actually discuss him with me? That's beyond insulting."

"Arvis, I'm not contesting what you've said about Julus Gurosawn. Shit, Leonard himself would agree with everything you just said." I stared into his eyes through his eyeglasses. "But that applies to his father, who's been dead for a few years. It's time to move on, just as I've moved beyond the slave crown, the Empire, Kefka, and Mobliz. If I can do it, so can a ranking city official over thirty years my senior."

Talk of his impressive stature did nothing to lower Arvis's hostility. "I almost did, until you brought that man into this very office. Granted you didn't know our histories very well, but I see your treatment of him hasn't changed since. I'll refer to the recent feud between the Zozoan gangs, and the betrayal against Gestahl by Palazzo. Even if Leonard speaks the truth when cutting down his old man, that's nothing to prove he's any different. You're too trusting, too quick to presume the father's legacy doesn't live on inside him."

Aggravating as this was, it came as no surprise. Knowing Arvis's feelings against Leonard prepared me for a tense quarrel such as this. "And you're being just as quick to nail him to the wall. He's done nothing to prove himself greedy or dishonest. Far from it." I lowered my voice, as my next words referenced a secret kept from the general public. "He's the person who informed us about the Shedairah killings, and helped navigate for the search team that collected monster evidence from the base. Surely you know that." Though I'd likely touch a sensitive spot, I couldn't hold back. Truth was a necessity. "Arvis, you're judging Leonard in a manner that's highly unfitting for a local Senator."

"Terra Branford, are you disrespecting my profession? Are you insinuating that I'm unfit to be on the Narshean Senate?" His fist shook angrily. He stood and paced to the far side of his desk. "As a government official, public safety is a high concern. My distrust is anything but out-of-place. Those who prey on decent, hardworking townspeople should never be tolerated or excused. Public enemies are thus my enemies, and I'll treat them as such. I'm not going by rumors. I'm going by the Gurosawn family record, which intertwines with a very personal experience." He grabbed a framed picture off the desk corner. "Look here."

I slowly stepped up and examined the photograph. Though the man in the top left corner didn't have gray hair, it was clearly Arvis. He was probably around forty years when the picture was taken. Next to him was his wife Vera-Lynne, and in front stood his son Otis and daughter Nicole. Arvis mentioned their names on various occasions, but this was the first time I'd seen a complete family photo. Nicole was but a teenager and Otis wasn't even that far along. This cherished family picture was years out of date. "It's an old picture of your family," I stated, unsure of his implications.

"Yes, it's more than a decade obsolete." He put the framed picture back on the desk. "But it's the only one I have. When Leonard's family put me out of work, I could barely provide for my own. Though my wife was at certain odds with relatives in her hometown, she moved back with them, claiming it was in our children's best interest. Divorce followed, and she spilt with the kids for her old place. To see my ex-wife, I must travel afar, and my kids only send letters. They won't see me in person. They survived the great collapse, but it's not brought us any closer since."

Though Arvis had referenced these happenings in the past, he kept them vague. "I didn't know. You never explained the details."

"Yes, because I didn't think there'd be a reason for it," sneered Arvis. "But when a Gurosawn child was allowed into my personal quarters, the past was alive once more."

This was getting circular. "No, it's not," I firmly disagreed, some of my patience long spent. "Julus Gurosawn is dead. Leonard is not his father, nor is he like his brother. You have nothing to prove malicious intent on Leonard's part. It doesn't matter what his father and brother did. He did _nothing_. You can't blame him for long past deeds of the dead."

Arvis opened his mouth to counter my argument, but nothing came out. He clenched his teeth and paced around the office. Maybe I'd finally gotten through. "Terra, the past could repeat itself. I knew of the Gurosawn legacy before you were even born. You've known Leonard but half a year at most. Sure, he wasn't involved with the Shedairah killings, but that proves nothing else. Quentir Braslino and Major Bozwensc died in that incident, and they were hardly decent people. He could be plotting something against this nation, and it'd be easy for him, having contacts in the Returners and inside the government itself."

He wasn't budging an inch. His tone was more civilized, but his accusations were just as vehement. Nearing the end of my rope, I tried playing off his knee-jerk prejudice. "Arvis, if Leonard's guilty of such, why is he a free man? You're just rambling, making charges you can't back up with hard facts."

"I'm being cautious Terra. Rest assured, if hard evidence comes to light, he'll be on a fast track to the gallows. Supposedly, he lives somewhere near the outskirts of town and keeps a low profile, despite the family riches. That's a telltale sign of a person with something to hide." He glared at me. "So I ask you, what is he hiding, and why?"

"It's obvious," I scoffed. "He's hiding himself, from people like you." I pointed directly in Arvis's face. "Hiding from those who judge and criticize him based on the actions of his father."

Arvis's glare softened, but in a much different way than I hoped. He smirked a little. "Good. The general public has the bastard running scared. Maybe he won't pull any shit with all eyes hunting for him. That doesn't change his intentions within. He's aptly nicknamed 'the betrayer's offspring'. If you knew him like I did, you'd understand why, and realize such a person can't be trusted."

I clenched my teeth in fury. "Know him?" I stomped forward, my face inches from his. "Bullshit. Arvis, you don't really _know_ Leonard, you just know _of_ him. Even if you've recognized his name and face all his lifetime, you don't know him as a person."

A knock on the office door cut my response short. Arvis opened it. A woman stood beyond. "Senator Wexler, Governor Hoff is holding a board meeting in five minutes."

"Thank you. I'll be out in short." He dismissed the woman and closed the door. "Are you once again undermining my years of life experience and intuition that vastly outnumber yours?" We stared each other down, with him awaiting my answer. Unfortunately, I had none. To impulsively speak my mind would be to run in yet another circle. "Just as I thought. Speechless," Arvis remarked, ending the tense quietude. He opened the door and gestured at the hallway. "I've private business ahead of me. However, know this much. 'Betrayer's offspring' is no random ID tag. It has logic and reason behind it."

I sulked past him, not commenting on the said ID tag in any way. "Enjoy your meeting," I said passively.

"Have a nice day," he answered in an equally apathetic voice. He closed and locked his office door and went down the hallway. I walked in the opposite direction, back to the nearby stairwell.

Arvis was clearly using his troubled past as a pretext to throw the book at Leonard. Hostility was inevitable for someone who'd been through a state of bankruptcy that ruined their marriage and family as it did his, but there was only some much rationale for hate and resentment, especially after two decades. While Arvis could've known about Leonard for the better part of that time span, he didn't actually know Leonard personally. In the few months I'd known the young Narshean, I'd learned more about him than Arvis could've discovered in twenty plus years. Quality over quantity to the letter.

But I'd learned something new from this quarrel. Leonard was 'the betrayer's offspring'. What did that mean? It was obviously connected with his an ill deed on Julus Gurosawn's part, but what exactly was it? Would Leonard explain it if I asked, or was it too bitter a secret to expose just yet? I honestly couldn't blame him if that were so. I'd already learned much from our last date at the Spethald campus, and it was enough to swallow for now. In time he'd share more, and there was still plenty, 'betrayer's offspring' or not. I had Leonard's trust, and that mattered more than Arvis's depressing opinion right now.

_change in s & n_

Two days after the double memorial for Earl Bantriue and Lord Chadimus, Tzen was back to its normal state of business. The munitions plant resumed its production, and Jim and Baokiydu went back to work.

Ambrose had left for the post office, checking for a new letter from Iradmiud Gorukean, something that could shed light on the mysterious deaths of the Earl and his eldest son. The Cabinet Minister was in a position to dig for information that we couldn't uncover so easily. I lazed on a couch in the first floor guestroom, which the Corporal and I had shared since arriving here in Tzen. As my eyes were drifting about, a rhythmic knocking on the front door and the rattle of a key in the keyhole got my attention. The door opened a moment later. "I'm back." It was Ambrose. After shutting and locking the door, he added, "And I've got something juicy."

"A letter from Iradmiud?" I asked, sitting up straight.

The Corporal appeared in the guestroom doorway, wearing the stolen Tzenish military fatigues without the headgear. "Absolutely, and it's got a real share of intel."

I lifted my feet, allowed him to sit next to me on the couch. "I presume you've read its contents already."

"Of course." He took a seat. "First things first, the deaths of Bantriue and Chadimus. Iradmiud was able to view some of the medical and autopsy reports, a curiosity outlined in my last letter to him. His findings were astounding." He pulled out the newest response letter. "As the report goes, Bantriue's medical staff entered his room around 5:30 in the evening. By that time, he was already dead. The autopsy revealed a high amount of tranquilizers in his blood stream, the very opposite of what doctors were giving him."

"So one of the doctors fucked up and gave him the wrong medication?" I laughed. "Incompetence works in our favor, perhaps."

"Entertaining, but there's enough to imply something else, and not on behalf of the medics. According to housekeeping personnel, someone different entered the Earl's privacy in the hour before his body was found." Ambrose's face lit up. "Lord Brofias."

"Really? You don't say." I gazed about. The guestroom had two windows, a small rectangular one in the north wall and a larger square one in the west. I stared through the open curtains of the larger window, eyeing Jim's backyard and the electricity pylons of the substation just beyond. "Does Iradmiud think Brofias poisoned his father?"

"He didn't say, and no one suspects Brofias, who's now making military decisions. They can't grill him while relying on his commands for action against Maranda." Ambrose scanned the letter. "The autopsy on Chadimus also turned up interesting finds. His death was obviously caused by that multi-story fall from that balcony, but the examination revealed a wound inconsistent with such a fall, even from that height. He landed on his face, but there was a fracture at the base of his skull. It reached inwards, suggesting a blow from behind. He fell straight down, not hitting anything until he landed, so this blow came prior to that fall."

I shifted my posture and crossed my legs. "Someone hit him from behind, and could've easily pushed him over the guardrail afterward."

"Someone did. Guess who was on that balcony with Chadimus right before that fateful plunge." A vague smirk shaped itself on the Corporal's lips.

"Let's see. Does it start with a B and have seven letters? Did people witness him up there?"

Ambrose read further down the note. "No. Brofias himself claims to have been with his brother, and that Chadimus was drinking more than usual out of anxiety. The autopsy revealed small amounts of liquor in his bloodstream, but not enough to significantly inebriate a man of his size. He didn't topple over that railing in a drunken stupor. He was bludgeoned, and then pushed off."

"And Brofias claims it was an accidental fall." I ran my finger along patterns embroidered in the sofa's arm. Everything in the Minister's note was clearly unavailable to the public at large. "Who else knows about these details, aside from Iradmiud and ourselves?"

"According to the letter, only the morticians, and they're obviously not talking. To even suggest Brofias played a part in the deaths of his father and brother would be like pinching the dragon's testicles. The army would execute any doubters before letting Brofias know about the suspicions." Ambrose looked up from Iradmiud's letter. "Not that Brofias would object to killing skeptics on the spot."

The soldiers' argument from Elporviran made sense now. The Sergeant was denying allegations that Brofias was a backstabber, and the Private was pushing to look into those allegations instead of blindly writing them off. Those allegations were something more now. True, there was no hard evidence, but the little circumstantial bits shared via Minister Gorukean's letter made it very unlikely these two deaths were pure coincidence, especially after hearing of Brofias's character in the Minister's own words. "What else is in that letter?" I asked.

"Nothing more about the passing of Bantriue and Chadimus, but another of our key questions was addressed." Ambrose's finger moved to the note's lower half. "Each Secretary in the Cabinet has been extorted, to some degree or another. Iradmiud has simply been the biggest victim, as he is the Cabinet's leader. He's not shared the idea of Brofias's treachery with any of them, but feels there will come a time for that. None of the other Cabinet members trust Brofias either. He's threatened a few of them personally."

"So it's true," I acknowledged. "The House is despised by members of the senior government, save for the ever-so-patriotic military personnel."

"Speaking of military matters, this morning's newspaper told the truth. Iradmiud confirms it here." The Corporal's index finger traced circles around a paragraph near the page's bottom. "At dawn, several thousand troops boarded the trains and ride west, where they met up with Nadreloitt's garrison. Some 15,000 men will march even further west, waging that offensive against Fort Nolbierros."

"That's 15,000 fewer soldiers here in town. We've a chance to act, to really fuck shit up," I declared. "Most eyes will be on Maranda's movements, if I'm accurate."

"Iradmiud successfully convinced his superiors that Aelchass's unit clashed with and fell to one of the Duke's units, who subsequently went for Albrook. His other fib was also believed, that he was kidnapped by anti-House extremists seeking revenge for those killed in the Nausetine riot, and that he escaped when his captors turned against each other." Ambrose folded the Minister's latest note, having disclosed all its contents to me. "He's done much to keep suspicion off our backs, but how much longer will the House look away? They'll eventually suspect internal resistance. With 25,000 men guarding Nadreloitt, and 15,000 more heading for Nolbierros, we should take this opportunity." He stood and pointed upwards. "I'll go upstairs and contact Albrook regarding these updates."

"Last I heard, our own troops and creations were establishing a garrison in Culmstropp." I followed Ambrose into the hallway. "If my guess is accurate, we'll fill the abandoned Tzenish towns of Rosseaund and Segolienne with our numbers next, to gradually position ourselves around this capital."

"Regardless, shit's going to get messy for the House." Ambrose began climbing the stairs.

"Tell me something I don't know Corporal. We're the goddamn Nyufalng. We make shitty messy when it gets too clean for comfort."

Atop the stairs, the Corporal paused outside the radio room. "That reminds me. Have you ever considered upping your combat proficiency?"

I stuck out my tongue, not in mockery but in demonstration of my finest asset. "You mean devise more tricks with this?"

He shook his head. "No, I mean learn something a bit more conventional, stuff like this." He drew the small shield and battle hammer from his belt, twirling the latter in his right hand. "I know your tongue is very talented, but simple practices can offer so much. A mere swing and the enemy's neck is broken, rendering helmets void. Plus, I don't see your tongue providing much defensive options. This piece provides many." He raised his shield, tapping the hammer against the surface.

"A solid armor bra offers fantastic defense with stylish looks to boot." I laughed. "But yes, a shield and blade can only boost my potential, and I already excel with a bow-gun, so I could learn a few more conventional tricks." I had a major augment, but was still far below the Pung Thoshidai in terms of natural abilities. "I'll take you up on that idea."

"See to that." The armed soldier put his arsenal back and went inside the radio room. "And while I'm at it, I'll show you a little something about how to work this communications gear." He beckoned invitingly.

"Aw. That's so…brotherly of you," I teased.

_change in s & n_

Locke was managing our shop once more, as it was my turn to visit Figaro City and purchase new supplies for our 'treasure restoration' business. After mentioning my performance of Leo's old Shock technique, Locke said he'd been practicing a weapon skill of his own, and would continue honing this while I was out. I looked forward too seeing this once he perfected it.

After the mandatory shopping, I stopped by Figaro Castle. Edgar wasn't holding any training sessions today, but Ziegfried was available for a brief chat. I told him about the Shock Thrust sword technique, and he compared it to his own Hyper-drive. The moves had their differences. Hyper-drive was a focused attack suited for singular, large targets. Shock was more generalized, spreading its focus deep to dispose of multiple enemies in single file type lines, though it was useful at close range for single targets. Still, the Hyper-drive was more devastating in that field.

The gladiator had business elsewhere. I thanked him for our brief discussion and let him go about his affairs. Upon leaving the castle, I walked about the nearby streets, curious of other happenings in town. After walking some five blocks northeast, I saw a large storefront with a colorful banner hanging over the entry doors.

The store in question was a hardware and building supply shop, but it also sported its own plant nursery. This last feature seemed in question however. The large banner announced that plants and bushes were being sold at no more than half their original price. The store needed a damned good reason to cut prices like that, and maybe a complex one if only their plant stock received lowered pricing. Something was up, and it wasn't a casual occurrence. My interest sparked, I went inside.

The plant nursery was at the store's north end, an open-air courtyard topped with a translucent yellow canopy tarp. A woman in jeans and a gray polo shirt knelt down at one of the shelves, a store clerk organizing potted plants. "Good afternoon," I greeted her. "What's the cause for this massive price cut on your plants?"

The clerk pulled two more planters off a hand cart and looked up. "Didn't you read the paper? King Edgar has imposed a new regulation on this town's water use. Because we're entering the warmer months of the year, and because construction of the new pipelines is still underway, he's asked that business cut back on excessive water use if it's not essential to their function." She loaded more pots onto the shelf, emptying the cart. "We're primarily a hardware store. This nursery is just one piece of our business. These plants need high amounts of water, but other businesses need that water more than we do, so we're forced to liquidate our plant stock and shut down this nursery."

Another clerk walked up, a man with gray hair wearing dirt-stained overalls and a matching gray polo shirt. He removed the regular price signs and hung sale price ones in their place. "If you ask me, it downright unfair," he said to the younger clerk. "We have to shut down a piece of our business while other places continue unchanged. Everyone is paying the new plumbing utility tax, but not everyone is forced to close down a piece of their livelihood."

The woman rose to her feet. "Unfair? This nursery is just a supplement to our business. It wasn't originally part of this store. These plants require loads of water to stay healthy." She pointed upwards, where various pipes crisscrossed overhead. The pipes bore sprinkler nozzles that pointed down towards the plant shelves. None of them were active. "Specialized gardening and greenhouse merchants need that water, as they have nothing else but plants. As a hardware shop, we can give up the excess water usage for now. King Edgar's policy was considered in all fairness."

"For now you can say that, but I have my doubts." The older clerk hung more discount signs on the canopy supports. "This tax was high when he started enforcing it a few months back. Not two months ago, he raised it again. Just last week, he enacted a new regulation that closed down part of this business. You should know what's coming next. Closing this nursery means less business, which means fewer customers, which in turn means fewer work hours. And that results in layoffs."

The woman pushed the cart aside, allowing the man to pass. "It's only temporary. When the pipes are completed, we can reopen the nursery. The King himself has assured us it's not long-term."

The man wasn't convinced. "So he says, but look what's happened so far. What's going to happen between now and then?

"You should trust him, after all he's done for us, and the world," urged the woman."

"We'll see what happens. That's all we can say right now." The man continued his sign replacement task, still not convinced but not pressing the matter.

The woman looked down and shook her head. "Of course the King will pull this off," she mumbled to herself. "He can do it. He'll pull through." Though she had clear faith in Edgar, she wasn't condescending to other viewpoints. Edgar wasn't the type to ask for blind patriotism, though he did inspire it in certain subjects, much to his unease. Criticism of him put said patriots on the defensive, offending them personally while he could shrug it off.

The woman turned back and made eye contact again. "Oh! Sorry, I didn't know you were still here. We were just having a…serious discussion about His Majesty's new policy impacting our business. Did you need something else?"

If this place was closing down part of its commerce, surely other places were too. "Who else is closing some of their livelihood because of this new policy?"

"I don't know yet. It was only enforced three days ago. You must commute from out of town." Though she'd been looking at me for several moments, she didn't recognize me. Maybe she didn't care, or her mind was preoccupied. Regardless, she wasn't praising Edgar because of my presence. She sincerely believed in him.

"Yes, that's right. You did answer my first question. I'll look around for the next answer." I left the clerk to her stocking tasks and exited the hardware shop. I'd been right, something major was going down. Surely other businesses were cutting back to comply with Edgar's new regulation. Any place that used large quantities of water but could get along without it had certainly been affected.

As I walked up the street, I found a newspaper machine outside a bookstore. Edgar's new policy made front page. Knowing more details would be found within, I dropped some coins into the slot and grabbed the topmost copy. If I were to read this article in depth, I'd need the proper environment. The book shop served that purpose. I went inside, found a bench in the back corner amid magazine racks, and took a seat.

Before opening the day's chronicle, I considered one key aspect of the shop clerks' discussion. The old man was very skeptical of Edgar's most recent practice. He wasn't outright hostile, but he was definitely not content. He lacked confidence in the Monarch, that much was obvious. This was the first time I'd heard anyone speak doubtfully about Edgar's plumbing upgrade measures. Until this time, no one had complained.

_change in s & n_

This was a first. Blitz lessons were usually productive, and I fully concentrated on the drills and techniques at hand. But today was different. I was mentally preoccupied with a different subject.

Sabin gathered some wind energy and hurled an Air Blade. With all the energy I could muster in my scatterbrained state, I produced an Aurashield to repel his attack. The windy burst slammed into my protective field bubble. Instead of fizzling out, the Air Blade swipe actually pierced the force field. I felt a draft as my defensive blitz waned against his offensive one. Channeling more thought into the shield, I repelled more of the Air Blade. The wind blew my ponytail about just before it died away, along with my bubble-like Aurashield. I could do better than this, with full concentration.

"Let us try again later." Sabin sat down on the bench along the dojo room's wall. This was unlike him. Normally, if I fucked up on a blitz as I just had, the master would call out my shitty performance and urge a redo immediately. Instead, he took a seat like it was nothing, delaying another try. Something was aloof with him. Feeling that way myself, I could only guess this was the case.

I sheathed my Scimitar and joined him. He wasn't fully disconnected, as he picked up on my distracted attention span. "Something's amiss Terra. You're not pushing to repeat the exercise. In fact, I find it odd that you screwed up on something so familiar. What's on your mind? Certainly not blitz moves."

"Nope," I agreed. "With all the details I learned from Leonard on our date, I felt the need to confront Arvis with these facts. I visited his office yesterday."

"That didn't go too well, I presume." Sabin frowned. He knew of the encounter between our two Narshean contacts in the Senator's very office, and the ensuing rage on Arvis behalf.

"No, it didn't." I slumped against the wall. "Leonard is no more than an extension of his father Julus, at least Arvis views him as such. I mentioned how much Leonard _despised_ his father, a man who's been dead since the great collapse, but that's not convincing to Arvis. He just used the whole no-honor-among-thieves concept."

Sabin was quiet. I didn't expect him to offer much advice on this, especially if his own mind similarly preoccupied. His commentary was merely of a curious nature. "Did he reveal anything new about Leonard?"

"He reinforced what Leonard himself disclosed, about his father being a corrupt business tycoon who bought out rival companies and forced merchant and shareholders out of work. Arvis was one of them. Bankruptcy cost him dearly. His family left him." I could tell Sabin this much. Arvis himself was anything but subtle when speaking of Leonard's family past when he saw him accompanying our group. Celes, Locke, Cyan, and Edgar all bore witness to that outburst. Sabin already knew Arvis's unfortunate history. He just didn't know Leonard's family played a role in it, until now.

Thinking about the argument between the Senator and myself reminded me of a crucial detail disclosed by Arvis, vague but no doubt significant. "I did learning something new. Leonard's got an infamous nickname, 'the betrayer's offspring."

Sabin raised an eyebrow. "Harsh as that sounds, I don't think Arvis would make that up. He's an honest man working for the Senate. Lies and slander are not his thing."

I forced a laugh. "Judgmental hatred like the kind he's displayed is also not in character with an upstanding government figure, but I've seen him embrace it more than once now."

Sabin finally offered encouraging words. "Even so, he could be exaggerating. Face it, Arvis's viewpoint on Leonard and his family is anything but objective. There's so much bias on Arvis's part, he can't see past it, and consequently doesn't realize how mistaken he is. It's not intentionally slanderous, but it's hardly factual either."

That sounded comforting, but was it true? I would've believed this was the case, but having learned of Julus Gurosawn's deceitful nature from Leonard's own words, I realized 'betrayer's offspring' could've easily been a nickname derived form fact, regardless of Arvis's personal prejudice. "Still, it has to bear some relevance, exaggerated or not. But what does it mean? Yes, it's an obvious allusion to something his father did, but what?" I tilted my head back to gaze at the low ceiling along the room's periphery. "It's a secret that Leonard's still keeping close. I doubt he'd just open up if I were to ask directly."

Sabin placed his hands on his thighs and lifted his chin. "But you've gotten this far. You helped him share what you just told me about his father. Why stop now?"

"I don't know for sure. Call is woman's intuition, but something tells me it's a more personal and agonizing secret than what he's reveal so far."

"At least you're intuitive. You didn't always have that asset." Sabin got up and approached the doors leading to the outside practice yard. He didn't have anything more to say on this matter. Something else was distracting him. He just stood in the doorway shaking his head.

I'd shared my choice distraction, so maybe Sabin would reveal his. "What's on your mind? I doubt it's relevant to Leonard and Arvis."

"Like I said, intuitive. I'll show you." I stood and followed him to the outside training yard. Sabin went to a gate in the fence and unlatched it. Just beyond the fence was a fish pond.

Except there was no longer a pond. Instead there was a mere hole in the soil, dry as the desert upon which this town was built. "You drained the fish pond," I stated in surprise. "Why?"

Sabin sighed and clasped his chin with his right hand. "Since you don't live here in town, you're not the first to know about recently-enacted city regulations. But I'm sure you know about Edgar's plumbing project."

"Of course. Taxes have gone almost sky high since he began. He was hoping to be finished around this time." Saying those words had me anticipating Sabin reply.

Intuition rewarded me yet again, for he took the words straight out of my mind. "That he was, but progress is lagging behind." He went on in detail. "Money is coming in much slower than it was before. Edgar practiced a back pay method, meaning he ordered sections completed before all required tax money had been collected for a particular stretch, as a means to keep the work flow speed consistent. In these spring months, heat is rising and water use has nearly doubled since last month, especially here in the desert. Certain businesses need that water just to keep up. For them, water is not just a visual aesthetic."

I stared into the empty hole of the former pond, understanding his implications. "So you shut off this pond, allowing such businesses to use the water more productively?"

He pointed behind us to the base of the northern mountains, the location of his cottage, and the forest beyond. "I bagged up all the fish and dumped them into a freshwater stream in the woods. Then I shut off the pond's water supply line. Here in the town's northern outskirts, I'm rather close to the farms in the northeastern corner. They need that water much more than I do."

"I'll say. It's the heart and soul of their trade, and a vital resource to this town's populace." At loss for insightful commentary, I could do little beyond recite the obvious. The hindering effects of this city-wide plumbing modification were no secret. Many streets were shut down for the building procedures, and commuters were forced into some very out-of-the-way detours. And that came after the large sums of tax money paid for the labor in question. Now, certain water utilities were being shut down if considered non-essential to their users. I thought of the nearby park where Leonard and I took a stroll a short while back. At this time of year, the sprinklers would be active, soaking the park's grassy field. Would this year be different? Would the park's sprinklers be shut down to allow the farming community their vital water demand from a scarce supply?

Regardless, other businesses throughout town would certainly feel this drastic cut in water usage. They wouldn't go bankrupt outright, but they'd definitely see a decrease in profits. Less money for merchants would mean less money to pay for…

…Unless those who used more water supplied more of the tax money. Wasn't that Edgar's plan from the start of this whole undertaking? It made sense, to tax the residence according to their water intake, a means to keep those who used less from paying extra for something they only used in small amounts. At least, it made sense on paper.

But this was practice, not abstract predictions scribbled on a material that burned and ripped easily. If certain places were lowering their water supply to help out farming companies, there was a drastic need for it. Maybe the farms weren't getting enough water to function. If they were at risk of going under…

"Things do get worse before they get better, oftentimes." Sabin's comment snapped me out of theorizing. "Look at what happened four years ago during our quest to take down Gestahl's Empire. The shit hit the fan, and fan was almost buried. The world's geography received a facelift before we accomplished our mission." He tilted his head to look at me, away from the empty pond. "Maybe these troubles are just a sign of progression. After all, you must travel on bumps to cross the bumpy road."

The words themselves could've been uplifting, but if they rang true, why was Edgar's brother so preoccupied, by his own admission, with this latest water use policy? A person generally wouldn't dwell on such matters unless they were deeply troubled. This was even more applicable to an accomplished martial arts master like Sabin. For Duncan's heir to let worrisome obsession override calm discipline meant he was greatly disturbed, which was disturbing on its own. How could the townspeople trust Edgar's re-plumbing methods when his own brother was so fixated on all the problems encountered so far?

Sabin could hide it from the general public, but not from me. Someone needed to keep a positive mind, and if Sabin wouldn't take up that challenge, someone else would have to fill the void. With no others present, that someone was appointed. "Yes, the only way to cross the swamp is to go through it. Everything accomplished is one less task to think about later on." I took Sabin words to heart, even if he didn't.

"Well said Terra. Even with Kefka and the Empire long dead, we're a still team, we have each other's backs, and we pull each other up from the mud of doubt and dismay. And you don't need esper magic for that." He smiled and winked. I'd gotten through, at least to him.

But my own internal questions were still unresolved.

_change in s & n_

I shifted my posture. It wasn't the most comfortable position, scrunched inside a large wood packing crate, but it was the only way I could get inside the factory. Jim and Baokiydu were already there, but they had job fronts to maintain, and couldn't perform sabotage while doing so. Ambrose had the stolen military uniform, and in any case he was of the gender allowed in manufacturing plants. The only way for me to get in was to smuggle myself inside a storage box. It was but a means to an end, a method for both of us to get inside the military-controlled plant and fuck with government assets once more. The disguised Corporal took a hand wagon and a large crate from a loading yard, and brought them to a secluded corner in the bay. After unloading most of the contents, stacking them as miscellaneous supplies 'to be sorted later on', I climbed inside.

Three days had passed since the Tzenish army departed Nadreloitt for its march against Fort Nolbierros. They may have left with gusto and glory, but they came back with something very different, for those who came back at all. The attack on Nolbierros wasn't merely a defeat, it was a catastrophic failure. The Tzenish army was very obvious in it march, and Marandan forces were prepared to counter such a tactic. Fort Nolbierros was situated at the end of a moderate canyon, and the forces of House Virnone filled that canyon as they stormed the fort's territory. They charged its wall, fortress defenders reacting accordingly.

But the real game breaker was in Maranda's additional movements. While the Tzenish military stormed the actual fortress, Marandan soldiers took position atop the canyon walls. The Tzenish legions, preoccupied with the fort's onsite defenders, were caught off guard when the surprise attacks came from above on both sides. No sooner had the battle started was the attacking Tzenish force pulling a retreat. The combination of artillery weapons and falling rocks dismembered the invading Tzenish ranks. Their superior numbers did nothing but constitute the body count. Only those in the far back ranks of the Tzenish formation were able to pull out. Not even a third of the Tzenish troops survived.

The newest note from Iradmiud arrived the day before. It spelled out all these details to the letter, as military reports were anything but vague. Maranda had replaced their crude flamethrowers with upgraded mortar cannons, which naturally played a key role in the slaughter at Nolbierros. There was also talk about the act itself, and the mindset which preceded it. This was done out of Brofias's rash and impulsive temperament. He was the decision maker, the one who ordered this march and its MO, an overly-aggressive charge headlong into a stronghold manned by a group known for its brutal, unconventional strategies. Like all pro-Gestahl nobles, Brofias believed that superior numbers, cutting-edge military technologies, and allegiance to the late Emperor made the Tzenish army invulnerable. This recent lopsided clash at Nolbierros however, caused the rational to question those presumptions.

The Minister's new letter also outlined the criticism of Brofias's tactics. The rest of the Cabinet was at least skeptical, at most disgusted. Even certain military persons were silently asking why he made such decisions, and what purpose future decisions would serve. That his own military staff was no longer buying into his propaganda spoke volumes. Some even questioned if Brofias was fit to rule Tzen, even if he was the late Earl's biological son.

Nonetheless, these encouraging viewpoints were still a minority, one that still incurred public scorn more often than not. Ass-kissing patriotism had taken a blow in one regard, with less-devout adherents evolving beyond it. But those more devoted followers had become even more short-sighted in the past three days. They were pushing for another campaign. To them, the troops who died at Nolbierros were 'gallant souls who looked certain death square in the face and spat on it, marching boldly to an opposing base of operations that was more than prepared for it, men whose unwavering conviction was to be honored by trying harder next time.'

Fuck that shit. The troops died in vein, but those hard line patriots just couldn't fess up to it, couldn't see past their primitive traditionalism to understand the military efforts were a collection of blunders that sacrificed so much and achieved barely anything. Great sacrifice doesn't always bring great reward.

In preparation for subsequent efforts, the military was going into overdrive. Recruiters were fast promoting their agenda, and the factories were running full throttle, especially the one where Jim and Baokiydu worked. It was one of the most essential manufacturing plants in town, as its produced goods were almost exclusively used by the military. They needed all its resources.

And we were here to screw up those very resources. The factory would produce fewer goods if its munitions were sabotaged.

Unlike Elporviran, this place was crowded with troops, as it was an army-controlled plant. Because of that, we'd move about together instead of splitting up. Through gaps in the crate boards, I could see the loading dock bustling with activity. We made it through the yard without any hindrance. At the roll-up door leading into the plant, guards greeted Ambrose as one of their own. "Supplies to maintain the munitions," he explained in a businesslike tone.

There were nails inside the crate near the top, and upon those nails rested a plywood board. Beneath this board was myself, and atop it were jugs and canisters that weren't piled in the loading bay. I could hear the lid sliding off the crate, allowing the guards to views the contents up top. They were convinced, and didn't ask to see under the topmost layer. "Very well," said one of the guards. I felt the sensation of movement again.

Though I'd never been here before, Ambrose had. Back when we first arrived in town, there'd been some employment openings. Jim told his superiors of acquaintances interested in work on the production lines. Baokiydu and Ambrose accompanied him to work the next day. Ambrose didn't make the grade, but the Sensorian impressed the factory staff, and instantly got the job. With two insiders at this plant, we had ample knowledge of its floor plan and function. Jim supplied us with map copies of the facility, and marked which points were of interest.

Using light that spilled in through a gap in the crate planks, I studied my map. Critical to the entire plant's function was a central chamber known as the boiler room, despite the place running on electricity. If something happened to the boiler room's generators, the whole place would lose its main power supply, and all hope would be in the backup auxiliary generator. If that also got fucked with, the factory's operations would shut down completely.

Our first order of business was fucking with the primary generators in the boiler room. Ambrose pushed the cart in that direction, with me traveling secretly in the crate. I could see passing troopers and plant technicians outside, but they were totally oblivious to my presence. The Corporal rotated the cart around a few corners. In what looked like another hallway, I could hear some distant pounding noises followed by grunting. Through a gap in the box, I espied a lone soldier up ahead. The man paced about, then turned and kicked the corridor wall, sneering words that I couldn't clearly decipher from my hiding place.

Ambrose however, was in a position to see and hear the man's full display. As he pushed the cart down to hall, he stopped alongside the trooper. This uniformed man was clearly upset. His ragged voice tones revealed that much, even if his face was hidden from my perspective. "What's the matter soldier?" asked Ambrose in a different voice, one void of emotion.

"I guess you've heard by now," said the other Tzenish man. His voice was more polished now that he was conversing with a supposed partner. "A second march against Fort Nolbierros has been ordered."

"Yes. Word of such travels fast and loud." Ambrose's voice remained objective, betraying no feelings or motives.

"I ask you, what's going to happen this time? Last time, we were completely caught off guard. I just barely managed to avoid getting lacerated by mortar shrapnel. My friend wasn't so lucky."

I listened from inside the freight box. This man claimed to survive that failed assault against the Marandan base.

"I don't know." Ambrose continued listening on his end.

"It's obvious," groaned the Tzenish trooper. "It'll be another suicide mission. Except this time, we won't have an excuse. We didn't know of the Duke's strategies back then, but now that we've sampled his game plan, we're supposed to repeat our mistake. Marandan troops are just waiting for us to walk into their next trap, and that's just what our superiors will cause with these new orders."

"You believe a second campaign will fail?" Ambrose just kept the man talking.

"It's more than belief," insisted the disillusioned man. "I'm talking from experience. Having seen the bloodbath and narrowly avoiding it myself, I know subsequent efforts will accomplish nothing. We try harder, we die faster." The man paced around the cart. He walked beyond my limited vision, but his voice was still in range. "I joined this army to fend off the Duke's barbarians, not to look stupid by deliberately walking into another one of their traps. Unless we force them to encroach on our turf once more, we'll suffer an even larger defeat."

"You don't believe in Earl Brofias's tactics, do you?" Ambrose's question was phrased more like a comment.

The other man walked back to where I could see him through the crate boards. "After tripping over the dead bodies of countless comrades-in-arms, most of us do not. The newly-crowned Earl has our blood on his hands, and only cares to send more of us to certain death with for no reason or purpose. Direct fighting won't defeat Maranda's army. We'll be the losers if we keep it up." He was quiet, breathing deeply. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not favoring the Duke by any means. He'll rape and ravage this country just as he did his political predecessor if he gets the chance. But he openly admits to being our enemy. Earl Brofias and General Vellanois claim to be on our side, but with this new offensive in the works, I'm not sure if my beloved Tzen is their topmost interest."

Ambrose remained passive, but didn't assume ignorance. "If the wrong person hears you saying that, you'll be executed for treason."

Through the crack between two boards, the soldier was visible from waist to shoulders. I watched him shrug. "Okay, so I'll be killed. If I follow orders to march on Nolbierros once more, I'll die just the same. It's only a matter of how I die, and by whom." With those final words, the man walked past Ambrose and down the hallway behind us.

The cart was moving again. Though I made no contact with the disguised Corporal, I had no doubts he thinking along the same lines as me. The disgruntled Tzenish soldier spoke with clear doubt in regards to the pending military operation, and he wasn't speaking only for himself. He'd referenced fellow survivors from the botched offensive, suggesting they were of like mind. A schism had unfolded within the Tzenish army, and it was growing fast. Iradmiud would have even less trouble convincing military and civilian skeptics alike that he and the Cabinet were better fit to govern Tzen.

We proceeded further along the main hallway, until the cart stopped once more. This time, I could see a door set in the concrete wall. This was the boiler room entrance. A numerical keypad was fixed over the doorknob. As a senior machinery tech, Jim had the room's access code, and shared it with us before we set out. Ambrose stepped between the door and my hiding place. I could hear him punching in the number code. After four clicks, there was a chiming beep. The Corporal opened the door, rotated the cart, and dragged it inside.

Once in the boiler room, he shut the door tightly. The noise of shifting wood came from above. The board overhead tilted upwards, and I greeted the Corporal in the boiler room's moderate lighting. "I know you heard the conversation just now," he said as I climbed out of the storage box.

"The fires or revolution burn, and we only have to provide a little kerosene to maintain them." I gazed around. The boiler room had a raised ceiling, as the generators were tall cylindrical giants of composite metal some twenty feet high. Dozens of pipes and cables ran from their top crowns to points in the ceiling and upper walls. A loud, low buzzing noise filled the room, the generators distributing electricity throughout the building.

Ambrose leaned in close. "According to Jim's notes, there's a power supply switchboard in the back corner. Because the machines are doing extra production, the power output levels are set higher than usual. A surge guard is in place to prevent an overload."

"Right," I said back, able to hear my voice despite the ambient humming. If anyone were outside in the hall, the hum and the closed door would cover our voices.

"You've got your charts on what to do. If someone comes in, I'll distract them." He stood near the door, ready if anyone came in.

I went to the corner and eyed the panel in question. Jim's notes were hardly a masterpiece, but their simplicity got the message across. Near the panel's top were five dials arranged horizontally. Each dial controlled a power supply for a specific area of the plant. They were each set at different levels, but all were above the designated halfway mark. On the panel's right side was a cluster of switches. These limited how much power the generators produced. Jim's instructions clarified the measures to unlock the surge protection mechanism. It was a simple matter of moving all the switches downward. With the surge guard off, the dials could be pushed to their maximum settings. As the plant was on overdrive already, the dials didn't need that big a push.

I rejoined the Corporal. "Surged guard off, and dials set to max," I reported, climbing back into the crate.

"It's just a matter of time before the excess output blows a fuse and kills the power." Ambrose replaced the shelf board, covered it with the supply containers, and closed the box once more.

Leaving the boiler room and maxed out generators behind, we entered a munitions chamber. The noise of conveyer belts, crane claws, and motorized hardware filled the room. I could see various feet moving around from my limited vantage point. Ambrose eventually stopped at a specific pair of boots. "Good day sir," he said to the person beyond.

"How goes?" asked a hoarse raspy voice, unmistakably Baokiydu's.

"Halfway decent, but improving," said Ambrose.

"That's good. I await fulfillment." After the Sensorian's reply, the cart was moving again. The brief exchange was a progress report, spoken in code. 'Halfway decent' meant our objective was halfway done. 'Improving' meant the next half was presently underway. Our plan included crossing paths with one of our insiders and giving a coded verbal report. They'd know of our progress, and could intervene somehow if we hit a setback.

However, we had a clear path to the second point of interest. Unlike the main generators in the boiler room, the secondary generators were outside the factory building. Ambrose pushed the cart and I into a brighter area. He removed the lid and topmost shelf, allowing me to behold a fenced enclosure against the plant's exterior wall. The auxiliary generators were positioned within, two cylinders tipped sideways like giant, overturned soup cans. Brackets reached upwards from their cores, supporting power cable connections overhead. No windows overlooked this yard. I had cover, as long as the Corporal stood watch.

Ambrose opened the door on a crack, peering inside. "Right…about…now. The power's out. Ajanli, do your thing. I'll distract anyone who might come out, but be quick."

I knelt between the two generator bodies and followed Jim's diagram. A group of wires kept these backup generators active. If the wiring was reconfigured, the auxiliary suppliers would fail. I pulled each wire plug from its respective socket and let it hang loose. With its energy supply cut off, the secondary generators were as useless as their overloaded primary counterparts. Even if someone reconnected the wires properly, the generators would only restart after some time, when all the energy was gathered, and in any case, these backup generators were only that. They weren't built to sustain the factory for long intervals.

We could've simply trashed the suppliers and cut their cables. But it would've been too obvious. The government and the loyalists of the military would get paranoid real soon, what with skeptics growing in number. We wouldn't leave any traces of deliberate sabotage.

"Lights are out, and staying out," said the Corporal. "Even so, you should get back inside." He pointed at the crate. "Girls aren't allowed here, and you still might be spotted. People have flashlights going."

He was right. If onsite personnel saw my teenage female self wandering this place immediately after a blackout, they'd get suspicious. I climbed back into the mystery box.

Inside the darkened factory, men were cursing wildly. I saw flashlight beams dance about. Maybe the Corporal had one for himself, or maybe he used the lights from others to navigate his way. Regardless of how he did it, Ambrose made his way back outside to the loading dock where we'd snatched this box and push cart. When he removed the lid, I found we were in the exact same corner where we started. "Just putting what we use back where we found it," the Corporal said with a wink. I climbed out once more, and I wouldn't be getting back in this time.

Getting out of the loading yard was easier than getting in, as the nearby guards and techs had gone inside to investigate the commotion caused by the power outage. Ambrose and I slipped out from the yard's walls, no longer on factory grounds. "The House is fast losing supporters, and they've just lost another vital resource." I gazed back at the machine plant before moving along.

"They'll become suspicious, sooner than later. They'll start looking inwards," Ambrose predicted. "You, me, and Baokiydu had best clear out before the city gets locked down even more. We should join up with our companions who've been taking positions outside this town."

The plant was well behind us now. We entered a train station, boarding a route bound for Jim's neighborhood. "Let's radio HQ when we get back," I mumbled into the Corporal's ear, mindful of other passengers. "I'm sure there might be a loose end or two that needs tying down before we split.

Our job here in Tzen was almost finished, I could feel it. We'd mount an assault very soon, especially with the army's rumored defection rate. Ambrose would likely exchange a final letter with Iradmiud Gorukean that dealt with aforementioned loose ends. Our plan was going smoother than we'd envisioned. The suspicious death's of the Earl and his older son, not to mention Brofias's fucking up with the disastrous march at Nolbierros, were titling things in our favor. If Iradmiud could bring to light the evidence of Brofias's backstabbing, the House would literally come crashing down.

Our mission was progressing, and as we'd heard in the last transmission from Albrook, Tanrevilt's mission was progressing just the same. He'd worked around the setback that stalled him earlier.

_change in s & n_

"You did it." Charise tried commending me for the new decisive act. "I know it's a great strain upon you, but you got it done."

We sat in the study of my castle, looking over the recent tax collection data. The latest stretch had just been completed, and the full cost of the section's labor had yet to be received. Fifteen percent was still missing. I figured it would come in short order, but I was troubled by something else entirely. "Yes, I did it, but what will come of it? Suppose it boils down to robbing one person to pay someone else who is equal? As King, I cannot play favorites with any one person or group amidst my people."

Charise looked up from an open folder on the table. "Edgar, I've said this before. If you didn't feel a little unease, I'd question your humanity, and thus your integrity overall as ruler. You may think what you enforced is unfair, but believe me, it's not. I know all about the hassles of maintaining crops and fields that feed entire cities. I grew up in a country famed for its agriculture. The farmers of this desert town need that extra water to feed the very people who're now required to cut back, especially in this warm season."

Logically, there were no faults to her words. She was right that Figaro City's farming industries needed more water than most other businesses in town. They cultivated not only foods, but vegetation and plants used in other essentials like medicines. When this town was just beginning, one of the first trades I established was a farming and agriculture guild. I knew the capital would need such if it were to prosper.

So why did I feel such discomfort? Surely I wasn't depriving the rest of the town to feed one of its prime sustainers. I skimmed the reports again. "Any place that doesn't need large amounts of water is giving it up to allow farming trades a greater share. They need it more than most."

"Yes, they do. But it's not like those other businesses won't thrive because of your new policy. They have plenty of other assets to keep themselves going." She took my hand in hers. "And you need to remember this; all of these measures, the policies, the taxation, and the construction itself, are _temporary_."

She'd used that word many times. When I first imposed this new taxation, I used that as encouragement. However, repeated emphasis of 'short-term' did nothing to clear me of doubts. "Something's only declared temporary until it becomes unmanageable."

"Edgar?" Charise's voice bore a different vibe. Her tone sounded critical, maybe even annoyed. "If you think like that, it _will_ be unmanageable. Know this much." Her tone softened. "You're pushing into new fronts, doing something you've never tried before. The doubt you feel comes simply from a lack of experience. I'm sure when you first picked up a sword or lance, you felt doubt. You didn't know if you could perform the martial arts of noble warriors. But look what you can do with spears and blades now. Doubt and confusion are normal when dealing with the unknown, but with time you learn what to expect. And this is the _only_ time you'll be modifying this entire city's waterworks utility system."

I didn't have a chance to respond, or even think about her words. The telegraph machine on a desk across the room buzzed, its light flashing as letter keys typed the message on the topmost sheet of paper. I strode over, grabbed the sheet when the printing stopped, and inspected the message. "Huh? Damn."

"What is it?" My wife stood up. "What's it say?"

I summarized the message's content. "It's from a local militia precinct in Narshe. There's been a strange death in the town, clearly not a suicide and unlikely an accident. They want to show me the evidence in person, but didn't elaborate."

"They're saving it just for you." She organized the documents we'd been reading. "I presume you'll be leaving?"

"As soon as humanly possible. I got a sense of urgency when reading the note." Getting to Narshe fast was a problem. The trains took their time, even if they ran nonstop from one point to another. I missed the Falcon once more, but Setzer's airship was not a priority for the mechanics at the harbor's repair depot. It wasn't an essential craft like the small airborne freighters. Maybe I could try something less conventional.

_change in s_

I faced the crew. "Thank you very much. I know this wasn't on your agenda, but I appreciate it greatly."

"Not a problem. We understand the need Sire," the pilot acknowledged. After gathering a squad of troops, we located a docked cargo vessel at the landing pad near Figaro Castle. At my personal orders, the freighter's crew shuttled me and my entourage to Narshe. Not that anyone on board objected to giving the King a ride.

I stepped off with my travel party. A crew member waved farewell, pulled the hatch closed, and the vessel took off, resuming its average task of shuttling cargo between Figaroan towns. Having reached the mining town, a stagecoach carried us to our local destination.

The precinct house was in the northern part of the Verdsanath District, not far from the border with Rasnayffe. The carriage dropped us off in front of the building, where guards greeted us. "Welcome King Edgar. You are expected in the morgue." One of the sentries pointed behind him. "It's all the way in the back."

We proceeded to the back of the building. The door was open, and two morticians were inside, and aged man and his younger female assistant. My travel party entered the morgue and took their positions around the room. "Welcome, King Edgar," said the lead coroner. "We didn't expect you this quickly."

"When I got your message, I halted everything, commandeered and freight ship, and flew here." I approached the examination table. A black tarp covered the body. "I have many questions, but I'll start with the basics. Who, when, and where?"

The woman grabbed a notepad and flipped to a specific page. "He's been positively identified as forty-three-year-old Franklin Maydecker, Lieutenant Franklin Maydecker to be exact."

"Place and time of death?" I prodded.

She scanned the note sheets. "His body was found in the moogle mines around seven-o-clock this morning, but the wounds were hours old by then." She flipped a page. "According to records, Lt. Maydecker was scheduled to patrol the mines during the graveyard shift last night. He signed in at 11:00 PM when his shift began, and radioed his HQ ten minutes before midnight after completing his first rounds. He reported hearing strange noises, but said was nothing out of place." Her brown eyes looked at me. "He was not heard from after that."

"So he died roughly between midnight and four in the morning," I theorized. "Did the moogles see anything in that time?"

"They were questioned, but no." The aged coroner shook his head. "They were doing their jobs in their designated labor areas at that time, and others were fast asleep. All they did was discover the body, and call attention to guards on the shift after Maydecker's."

"I see." This wasn't surprising at all. The moogles were so bogged down with labor demands, they couldn't keep track of much else. That was why military personnel like Frank Maydecker were aiding in the mine's security. "Next question. How?"

The woman pulled the black tarp down to reveal the head, shoulders, and chest of Maydecker's corpse. I immediately noticed the cause of death. A large hole some two inches in width was centered in the man's neck. The female coroner reached for Maydecker's left eyelid and opened it. The eye was missing. He'd suffered not one but two stab wounds. According to the morticians, but impalements produced exit wounds.

"We can't tell if these were successive or simultaneous," explained the older man. "But that aside, there were no weapons found at the scene, save for the Lieutenant's own arsenal. Nothing on him would produce wounds like this, so it's evident that no one used his own tools against him."

I looked down at the hole in Maydecker's throat. The coroners had done extensive study of this fatal injury. "What can you tell me about these particular wounds?"

"It was a very stiff and sturdy device." The old man read details from his note board. "Not only that, but it was smooth, a long cylindrical object with a sharp point. It made clear, clean punctures without abrasions that happen with jagged spears or blades."

I exchanged glances with both morticians. "In your message, you said it was not a suicide, and likely not accidental. From everything you've shared, it's clearly a homicide. Why didn't you just declare this a murder?"

"I wouldn't argue with that conclusion, but studying these impalement wounds like we did brought to light a more complicated scenario. In all my years of conducting autopsies, I've seen various wounds like this, and they all had similar causes." The experienced coroner laid his notes down on a supply stand. "Goring fatalities from wild beasts with long straight horns or spikes produce injuries nearly identical to these." He pointed at Maydecker's neck and eye wounds.

"Something from the caves killed him?" I verbalized this new potential.

"Something yes, but from the caves, I'm not so sure. We consulted the biology files, and the only creatures living in those caves are were-rats. Their teeth and claws are too short and too thin to create major piercing wounds such as these. And Lt. Maydecker was a capable man. A monster with large spikes wouldn't be able to sneak up on him, unless it was smarter than the average beast. Whatever killed him is a new intelligent species."

I ingested these words. Only one conclusion was possible.

The monsters that caused all the death and carnage at Shedairah had come back after a long silence, returning for the taste of blood.

"Who else knows about this?" I asked.

The woman fixed her jet black braid. "The family was informed earlier today, but they were not told of any monster-related possibilities. His colleagues know that much, but they're keeping such info private. Aside from them, the only other person who knows is you, Your Majesty."

"We figured this would be of interest to you. That's why our message was vague. We didn't want to risk a mass hysteria by allowing the wrong person to read the death report." The older man pulled the tarp over the cadaver's face.

"I appreciate that. We can't spill this information too quickly. Narshe would fall into chaos and panic if they learned of new dangerous monsters striking so close to the town itself. Shedairah was in the rural mountains, but this is the core of civilization." The monsters had come back, and were getting more bold and brazen, as much as 'thinking' animals could. Once again, I had many questions and few satisfying answers. Why had the monsters been quiet for so long? Was there any connection between them and the massive re-plumbing of Figaro City?

As much as I'd been hoping against this, having the new monsters come back was something I'd been bracing for, and it felt more logical than their long, unexplained absence.


	28. The Growing Vortex

**Chapter 28: The Growing Vortex**

Locke and I didn't have plans to be in the capital this morning, but when we received a telegraph message about the monsters' return, we boarded a train and headed for the military command center. Most of us were in the briefing room, though Relm, Gau, Leonard, and Joe were absent, preoccupied with respective school and work obligations.

"There was a death in Narshe," Edgar explained, "Lt. Frank Maydecker was patrolling the moogle mines during the graveyard shift the night before last, when something killed him. His body was found the next morning by some labor moogles." The young monarch glanced through a notebook. "Just before midnight, he radioed his superiors claiming to hear strange noises, yet he saw nothing abnormal. That was the last anyone heard from him."

Cid was also present. As this conference was centered on monsters, he was probably one of the first through the door, after Edgar and the military staff. "Did anyone ascertain the precise time of death?" asked my surrogate grandfather.

Edgar shook his head. "Unfortunately no. The morticians could only determine that Maydecker's injuries were hours old at the time of discovery. The best theory was that his death occurred sometime between midnight and 4:00 AM."

Throughout the room were Figaro military staff, 1Lt. Paul Edderbricht, 2Lt. Deanne Sarholme, Col. Jerom Frennard, and SSgt. Rodney Hayne being the ones I recognized. A man I didn't know pushed a question. "Sir, why is this deemed a monster attack?"

He was a Major, for Edgar addressed him as such. "I have some photographs to share, pictures answering that very question." He flashed a handful of large glossy pictures. The inventive King of Figaro pulled up a device alongside him, another of his recent marvels in technology.

It looked like a table on wheels, but it was functionally a lot more. This new device could take a small image and project a large copy of it using mirrors and lights. The large image was projected into a flat surface, a white glossy wall panel in this case. Edgar laid the picture on the tray and raised a lamp from behind it, a lamp that was built into the 'table on wheels'. After flipping a switch, a large blurred image appeared on the white wall segment.

"This should be interesting," Locke mused while Edgar reached behind the projection lamp, somehow making the picture less blurry.

The image showed a man's face. One eye was closed tight. The other was open yet nonexistent. After letting the audience gaze upon the gruesome image, Edgar slid another one into the projection tray. It was the back of a man's head, with a hole in the scalp and cranium. From the previous picture, it was obvious this hole lined up with the eye socket. "As you can see, Maydecker was killed with some large object that impaled his brain through the eye, creating an exit wound. There was a second wound on his neck." Edgar provided two more images, front and rear shots of this neck piercing.

Locke winced just from looking at the images. "They meant business, whoever or whatever killed him."

"The coroner in charge of the autopsy claimed he'd seen many wounds in his life that closely matched these. All were goring injuries, done by monsters with long, hard spikes." Edgar pointed at the image of Maydecker's fatal wounds. "The entry holes line up perfectly with the exit holes, and as you can see, the holes have smooth edges. Smooth horns or tusks wound produce such."

Once the King presented everything else that was known, Jerom Frennard raised a hand. "This evidence is compelling, but it's all circumstantial. Unlike the Shedairah massacre and the laboratory incident, we don't have any hard evidence of a monster. We don't even have witnesses who claimed to see or hear something in the area at the time. As you said, none of the moogles noticed anything suspicious."

Edgar shut off the projection lamp. "A great point Colonel, and in different circumstances I wouldn't concluded that a monster killed this man. But after three incidents involving highly intelligent and ferocious beasts that defy the rules of biological science, I'll treat this as a monster-related killing until proof of otherwise is discovered. I don't mean to invoke harsh memories, but let's recall the killings at Dragon's Neck Coliseum." I looked across the room at Setzer. The gambler just looked down, allowing Edgar to elaborate. "Security staff in the arena presumed it was a monster just from looking at the wounds, and they ultimately were right."

"T'is true," agreed Cyan. "I presume you'll order search teams to comb the mines for the new creature within."

"I will send out teams, but let us keep an open mind. The moogle caves are documented in full, both in layout and indigenous life forms," Edgar acknowledged. "Knowing these new monsters have higher intelligence than most, I'd say the spiked beast is alien to them, and migrated from elsewhere for whatever reason. I'd think my rebuilding of this town's water network might play a part, but understand the Shedairah killings took place before the construction was deemed necessary. Construction crews haven't reported any dens or nests while digging around."

"Nonetheless, we have to find out where they're coming from, and maybe what they're after," called out Locke. "Since this unfolded in the moogle mines, maybe it's the perfect time to investigate this rumored falling out between Mog and Umaro."

"I've been thinking about that myself. However, such a personal matter is of minor concern. That affair has not killed anyone, unlike the new monster breeds. I cannot occupy our military forces with such a mundane happening." Edgar winked at Locke. "Of course, as you don't have any political duties, feel free to investigate for yourself. Just know that my hands are tied."

"I'm quite used to that Edgar. It's often me who performs the little tasks." Locke nudged me with his elbow. "Not that you never play a role."

"Do what you can, when you can. As I've shared all the details, this meeting is officially dismissed." When Edgar concluded the briefing, he was joined by his brother. Setzer got up and left immediately.

"Where's Ziegfried?" Locke asked. "I'd think he'd be around for this news update. Oh well, he'll be informed somehow, soon enough." He stopped glancing about the room and looked at Cyan, who was lightly conversing with military staff. "I'll go tell the General about new weapon techniques I've been practicing with discuses and boomerangs."

"He's always been impressed with your talents." I watched Locke stroll to the front of the chamber, where he joined Cyan's company.

"Celes. You have a moment?"

It was Terra. She joined me not a second after Locke's departure, a look of curiosity in her dark green eyes. "What's up?"

She leaned in closer. "In case you didn't know, I had another meet with Leonard, at a theatre school in Narshe. He finally shared something about his father, and though it wasn't too surprising, it was still far from my expectations."

"You did it!" On pure reflex, I pulled her into a hug. "I told you it would happen, if you opened your doors, that he'd open his in kind." Maybe I was a little to celebrative. After all, whatever Leonard disclosed was nothing positive in the least. But I was happy that she'd finally overcome a roadblock that stifled her for as long as it did.

I pulled away and let her share the knowledge. "His father was a wealthy and corrupt business tycoon who bribed a lot of city officials, from army brass to guild leaders. Many legitimate companies were bought out by him, or were somehow forced into bankruptcy. Arvis's old company had been one of them. I paid the Senator a visit not long after our date, and learned this."

I winced. "Damn. That explains Arvis's resentment towards Leonard's family, to a degree. But it's not Leonard's fault. And whatever happened took place around twenty years ago. You'd think Arvis would move on."

Terra sighed. "He claims he did so, until seeing Leonard in our presence. He still has this warped view that Leonard is dishonest." She pressed her lips tight. "Arvis called him the 'betrayer's offspring', claiming such a moniker is based in fact. I don't know what it means in full, but it's clearly referencing one of his father's deeds."

"Hmm. The only person who can really shed light on its true meaning is Leonard."

"Obviously, and while he's opened some, I get the feeling he's still uncomfortable disclosing every detail. He doesn't blame himself by any means, but it's still not something he can speak on objectively." She folded her arms and gazed up at the ceiling. "I don't want to tread on sensitive grounds, but nor do I think it's wise for him to keep this information closed up, especially now, with friends like us."

I put a hand on her shoulder. "Well, from the level of notoriety surrounding his father, it's not really that secretive. He likely won't speak of it, but it's still public knowledge. Arvis definitely knows, and Leonard's aware that it's no obscure matter.

"I'm not denying that much. But I'd like to learn if from him directly. I owe that much to both him and myself. Besides, the prejudice Narshean townsfolk could very well exaggerate shit, considering their bias against his father."

Now I placed both hands upon her shoulders. "Terra, it wasn't long ago that you asked us for in-depth opinions on various topics. Now you're the one who's thinking ahead, pondering angles just like the rest of us. You know what to do, so I can only suggest how you'll accomplish that. I know this may sound a tad uneven, but it could be time to name that half-esper girl you told Leonard about. He's done a share of reveals since. Now it's your turn."

The half-esper woman gulped down slowly. "I've thought about that part. I'll have to eventually. It's just…been so long since I spoke about it with anyone. I've gotten so used to keeping it hidden. I cannot hesitate forever, but…" She didn't finish.

"Old habits die hard. You hesitation is natural," I assured. "But realize you've already told him about yourself, as though you were describing someone else. That's a major step in the right direction. It's just a matter of time, very little at that, before you go all the way. Once that's over, I'm sure he'll step out of his closet and explain what 'betrayer's offspring' means in full." I smiled, offering what encouragement I could. Even now, with Terra more experienced in life, I still made a point to give her my best.

"Like a seesaw or a pendulum," she analyzed. "It must swing both ways before stopping in the balanced middle. When I can track him down, I'll suggest going to the hills behind Narshe, where we fought off the Imperials in defense of Tritoch, right before my very first transformation."

"It's the perfect place for symbolic value, and the snow's not too thick or cold at this time of year," I approved, though she didn't really need my approval. She already made up her mind. "Go for it."

While I didn't know the exact feelings on Leonard's end, I could take an educated guess that he was reluctant in some way to share more about his past. Terra concluded that much already. And she would know. She felt a similar hesitance on her part. Ironically, this mutual reluctance could bring them even closer together, if only one of them could take that pivotal next step.

I knew Terra's feelings, but not Leonard's. My interest was perked, so maybe it was time to further acquaint myself with the Narshean. What better means to get both sides of this long-stalled relationship.

_change in s & n_

Jim gathered some tools from around his workshop. "So this is farewell, I take it."

For the last time, I pulled on my over-seized brown travel cape. "That it is. It was great to see you again."

"Likewise Ajalni." Jim turned and offered his open right hand to Ambrose. "It was a pleasure to meet a fellow Nyufalng of a proud Tzenish background."

"Absolutely." The Corporal shook the older man's hand. "Thanks a bunch for adding a spear tip on my war hammer."

"And last but not least, Baokiydu. Give my best to your brothers and sisters in arms. You've got a big job ahead of you, much larger than mine." Jim held out his tool case. "The factory's out of commission, but senior munitions techs like me have been called back to help install the replacement electricity generators."

Baokiydu finished wrapping his bandage disguise around his face. "Does anyone know the cause of the overload?"

"Some claim the overdriven production lines blew the power suppliers, but there are rumors circulating about someone tampering with the utilities on purpose. No one has been named, but if that's the case, whoever screwed with the generators did a damned good job on both." Jim glanced around at nothing specific. "The loyalists of Tzen's military are getting very paranoid."

Paranoid was an understatement. The growing protests against taxation weren't the only swords leveled at government credibility. The failed march against Fort Nolbierros was incompetent by itself, but ordering a second one displayed ineptitude of a whole new sublevel. By asking the armed forces to repeat a mistake, Brofias proved himself less and less capable in the eyes of more and more people, both civilians and military. One recent saying claimed he'd destroy Tzen faster than even Maranda's Duke could hope. With skepticism growing, Iradmiud Gorukean was finally able to share the evidence suggesting Brofias had killed his own family to become the next Earl. As Brofias was already unpopular, this evidence was warmly received.

Ambrose had received another note from the Cabinet Minister. This letter claimed reform was greatly desired, and that Tzen's Cabinet was more than capable of running the city-state without House Virnone looming over their shoulders. Certain military officers were secretly defecting to the Cabinet, and Iradmiud had told his colleagues about his 'kidnappers', a mysterious group that sought to overthrow House Virnone in favor of a balanced government with no imperialistic motivations, a leadership that was also void of Gestahlian influence. Like the evidence implying Brofias disloyalty, this revelation was praised with open arms.

However, there was a problem for those dissenting. They were still outnumbered by the blind loyal patriots who shaped and built the old Empire and its succeeding House Virnone. The army was crippled greatly; they'd suffered heavy losses at Fort Nolbierros already, and the garrison of Nadreloitt was still in place to repel the Duke's minions, thus unable to help efforts here in the capital. But even with mass dissent and a disabled weapons plant here in town, House Virnone still had a formidable share of the armed forces, and they had a fitting arsenal. They could easily quell any local rebellion from dissenters within.

But taking on a mysterious external foe was not their choice operation at this time. We Nyufalng were unknown to the House and its flock of sheep.

It was time for our trio to leave the city and join up with our comrades who'd amassed outside. Our undercover work was done, sooner than we predicted thanks to the happenstance finds of Brofias's disloyalty and Iradmiud's dilemma. Ambrose sent one last letter to the Minister, detailing some vague plans we had unfolding outside the town, and giving prompts for the Cabinet's preparatory actions here inside. He specifically stated this would the last letter, and that Iradmiud should not reply. After sending it, Ambrose cancelled his agreement on the designated post office box, no longer masquerading as a Tzenish trooper.

We followed Jim out to his front porch, where he locked up. "You know where to find the spare key. Like I said before, my place is always your place. If my illness takes me, there's an unsigned owner's deed in a metal box on the closet shelf of my bedroom. You can sign your names and get yourself another hideout. Once again, I bid you well." He proceeded down the porch steps and headed towards the train stop, rounding the nearest corner and out of sight.

"As we speak, the House is formulating its next plan," mumbled Ambrose, his shield, hammer, and plate cuirass hidden beneath his jacket. "We'd best leave as quickly as possible. I know the shortest route to the escape point."

We left Jim's house behind, waving down a carriage heading north. Since the artillery plant's crippling, martial law had been stepped up a degree. Not only was entry into this town prohibited by general figures, departure was also banned. Only designated military personnel and nobility could come and go. All gates to the city were locked down. But that made no difference to Ambrose, who knew the layout of Tzen and its surrounding terrain.

At the northern outskirts of town, the coachman dropped us off. Not far was the chosen escape point. The army had blocked off all the conventional exits, but the resourceful young Nyufalng Corporal was thinking far ahead of the orthodox-minded military. Northern Tzen sat along the base of the mountain range, and in the mountain side was the opening of a long drainage line. Ambrose had once explored this some years back, and knew it led far enough to reach the waterways, which in turn emptied into an outdoor mountain stream.

We found the drainage pipe, masked by overgrown trees and void of grate bars that would seal it off. Maybe the House would catch on and close off this forgotten access point to the outside world, but we had no plans to stick around that long. Pushing the tree limbs aside, we entered the dozen foot wide cylindrical passage. Ambrose pulled a flashlight form his coat and clicked it on.

At last I could free myself, literally and figuratively. I grabbed my cape and tore it off with so much force, I nearly ripped it in half. Cursing the useless piece of fabric, I threw it into the mud at the drain pipe's bottom. In a short time, all women and girls of Tzen could take off their own and show the world their true beauty. With this last ritual concluded, we began our trek out of town.

_change in s_

"Ajalni! I'm did missing you." Chithagu wasted no time in licking my face. He'd been without me for quite some time, longer than I'd been gone in Zozo.

Our numbers had not gathered in the plains south of Tzen's capital. That was too obvious, with the city on lockdown all along its southern perimeter. Instead, Nyufalng air vessels flew low and dropped our side off to amass in the northern mountains. While we fucked things up in Tzen, our techs in Albrook were building additional airships for the purpose of shuttling staff quickly across long distances. With all eyes on the south and west, and on the capital itself as of recent, our gathering in the forested mountains was unbeknownst to those in the town below.

"Come the way here," Chithagu rasped and wagged his tale. We followed him to a large black tent.

"Long time no see." Dyal'xern approached our group, grinning in his usual egotistic manner. "Did you have fun, even without me? No matter. Whatever I missed will pale in comparison to what's around the corner."

Baokiydu, now free of his bandage mask, scoffed. "You had all the groupies while I was undercover at a munitions factory. You've no right to feel jealous."

"I'll feel whatever the hell I want, and you can't stop me," teased the Air-smasher. "Regardless, you all did well. Ruqojjen and Yithadri briefed us on all your progress. We read transcriptions of your radio messages. Burning the Elporviran radio tower, compelling Gorukean to aide our side, confirming the rumors of Brofias, spreading word of his treason. We know about all your daring feats."

"Did you give my regards to the High Shenthaxa and Honored Shamaness?" asked Ambrose. For some reason, this sounded important to him, more so than I would expect.

"Absolutely. And if you still seek armaments, come this way." Dyal'xern led us across the marshalling camp.

We'd be hard-press to find a more strategic location for our makeshift base. This part of the Tzenish mountains was heavily wooded. The airships had obviously docked elsewhere, but the tree growth here masked our camp, and then some. All the trees here were tall redwoods, their sprawling branches high above. This allowed room for the large tents below, all of them covered by the thick, intersecting branches. Dyal'xern also pointed to a mountain summit south of the rendezvous point. He explained it offered the perfect view of the Tzenish capital, and the political district in particular. This would prove vital in gauging the House's next significant move.

Ambition was all around. Soldiers of all stripes and ages moved here and there, some mounted, others on foot. Small groups had come together to practice melee combat in preparation for the real deal, wagons filled to the max with supplies were being pushed into various tents, and creations themselves were following commands from their respective riders in yet another drill.

Numbers were massive. Our last act of combat, intercepting the brigade in the Kavaryts Basin, was somewhat spontaneous. We didn't have excessive time to plan ahead. This was much different. In the time we'd been away in House Virnone's capital, Nyufalng officers were training even more rookies, and further hardening those who'd been trained already. Our Generals and Captains could get much done in moderate time. As they say, anything's possible with drive and motivation. According to Dyal'xern, we'd have a total of 30,000 men, women, and augmented creations ready to storm Tzen's political district when the time was right. That time was fast approaching.

"And here we are," announced the Air-smasher once we arrived before another large tent. There were loads of packing crates inside, where Qaurjaeda was stacking them in an orderly fashion. With his mentally-boosted strength, the Grav-wielder lifted two more boxes and leapt up, placing them on a pile of three more.

"At least he's organized," mumbled Baokiydu. "Maybe he learned a few things on organization during our ops in Tzen."

"Maybe," Dyal'xern acknowledged. "I'm sure he learned a few things while cleaning you private quarters in the palace."

"What the hell? You let him clean my room?" Baokiydu's lips curled back.

Light as a feather, Qaurjaeda came down on all his legs at once. "Long time, no see. If I'm correct, everything went as you intended."

"Not quite," I said. "We did have a few surprises no one expected. They made our job easier."

"Only because we utilized such chances," Ambrose pointed out. "Take opportunities when they come, for they don't always show when you need them."

"If it's weapons you seek, step right up. We've got plenty." Dyal'xern gestured all around. Some of the crate piles topped his height.

Ambrose drew his favorite hammer and shield. "I've got my share. Though it's not our primary goal, we'll still be liberating Tzen from House control, and thus from Gestahlian influence. These locally-crafted pieces are plenty functional, and as a Tzenish native, they bear a sentimental value in my hands. I couldn't ask for a better choice of melee arms."

I'd never thought of that. Ambrose's choice arsenal had a symbolic value for him. He'd be killing Imperial supporters and bringing local control back to Tzen using Tzenish-made weaponry. Maybe the rangamju hammer-talon was no longer his personal favorite.

But it could be mine. I held up my hands. "But I'm quite empty handed. A shield and maybe a rangamju should suffice, as I have some experience with both. I'll take up your suggestion Corporal."

"Anytime." He threw me a wink, embracing his 'big brother' persona once more.

"Rangamju and shield eh?" Qaurjaeda beckoned. "This way. I stacked boxes of such earlier." I left Dyal'xern to catch up with Baokiydu and Ambrose, following the Grav-wielder past a few box piles, Chithagu curiously at my heels. Qaurjaeda pointed out one crate in particular.

I slid off the top and looked inside. Rangamjus aplenty were lined up neatly. They were all alike, so I grabbed one and held it out. "Feels good," I approved. "Light but sturdy. All that's missing is a shield."

"That can be arranged." Qaurjaeda pulled another crate over and opened it up. "You ask for a shield, you get the best Jrysthovuh could offer."

He was right. I looked in the box and swore in awe. The kalsahun oval shield was a versatile piece used by both infantry and cavalry. Its small size allowed for fast movement, but it was durable too. Though it was much less an offensive piece than the rangamju, the kalsahun did have some clubbing power of its own. Spikes could be attached to its rim and domed surface, giving it more killing potential.

And now, one was clutched in my hand, perfectly matched with the rangamju, and my special tongue, of course. "Not long until I get to break in these new toys." I gazed at the hammer-scythe and oval shield ambitiously. My next priority was some armor.

"Even if the defectors can't crush the House's loyal army, we can, and will do just that should the dissenting party raise arms against their ex-superiors." Qaurjaeda flexed his arm, tightened his fist, and grinned, flashing his sharp teeth.

"Thanks to Iradmiud, we know all the military and civilian bigwigs who support obsolete sexists tyranny. Our targets couldn't be any clearer. He also provided us with a map of the palace." I swung out with my rangamju's hammer face. "And thanks to our little stint at the Elporviran field, they won't be calling for outside help, since they can't."

"And the Nadreloitt garrison is preoccupied at the western front, and after seeing that march on Nolbierros fail as it did, I doubt they'll be following House orders anytime soon." For one with so little etiquette, Qaurjaeda was quite attentive to the finer details.

"Soon, there won't be a fucking House to give orders." It was the Corporal. "Once the next riot breaks out in Tzen, we move in. It's only a matter of time."

_change in s & n_

The train went on its route through northern Figaro City. I wasn't headed to the farm, but to a blitz lesson. Hopefully, a setting of mental discipline would help clear my mind.

I'd been very uptight since receiving the telegraph from Edgar, about a monster that killed a guard in the moogle mines. The monsters had come back.

The anxiety was pushed aside by force as the train stopped. I left it and descended the waiting platform. The dojo doors were closed as I approached. This was hardly abnormal. Sabin would often shut them to keep out unwanted noises or drafty winds. But as I got closer, I could see a note taped on the doors. Only after climbing the front stairs could I read it.

Daily lessons cancelled. Helping with plumbing work in town. Sabin.

I cursed in aggravation. The plumbing project was a massive city-wide undertaking. I didn't know all the details, but heard from coworkers that it became more complicated as time passed. As city residence greatly outnumbered blitz practitioners, it made sense that Edgar's brother would halt a few lessons to assist in a greater affair.

But my annoyance stemmed from not having a suitable distraction from these recent troubling thoughts. Knowing the Shedairah killers returned and spilled blood once more cost me a few hours of sleep the previous night. I didn't fault Edgar for updating me as he did. The King wanted me informed on whatever transpired regarding the mining base massacre, including the mysterious creatures' long-delayed comeback. He was adamant that I not share the full details with the wrong people. I complied with that. Knowing what I did was too much for comfort. I had no intention of spreading worry when I so desired to cleanse it from my own thoughts.

"Leonard. How goes?"

Now I'd been spotted in my uneasy state. Determined to mask the tension so it wouldn't spread, I put on a smile and looked over my shoulder. Joe was climbing the dojo's outside stairs, coming to stand alongside me at the closed doors.

"Joe. I hope you didn't come to watch the lesson, because there isn't one." I pointed at the note.

"Ouch. Must suck for you," said the merchant, having no idea how truthful he really was.

Again, I wouldn't let on about it. Edgar was very specific that the general public not know of the monsters' return, and he specifically referenced Joe. I was involved in the Shedairah killings. Joe was not. The peddler already knew about the Shedairah killings, much to my dismay. Though he initially expressed what I considered a morbid interest in the subject, he let well enough be after that. I wasn't going to spook the everyman with another monster story, nor would I spook myself, if he asked questions about Shedairah that I wanted unspoken. I'd keep my mind off the massacre if his mind also strayed from the matter. My response was only relevant to Sabin and the plumbing. "I guess they need his help. I don't know how it's going, but I can imagine setbacks galore in a project of this scale."

I turned to face Joe in full, and he looked down, his face suddenly exploding into a brilliant look of amazement. He words explained all. "Whoa! Kick ass pendant."

Terra reacted like this before, so I was a bit used to Joe's admiration, and only now did I understand why he'd never noticed it prior. Most of the times I'd seen him, I'd either covered the necklace with my jacket or had removed it for a blitz lesson. Since there was no lesson today, it still hung form my neck.

That said, Joe seemed overly impressed at a mere piece of silver. Even Terra's fascination didn't border on worship. "Yeah, it's a great design, but it's just a decoration."

Joe stared some more. "Decorations are sometimes all that matter for a jewelry peddler like myself." That explained his awe, to a degree. "Where did you buy it?"

He was listening intently, so I gave him the truth. "I didn't really buy the design. I took an image to a smith in Narshe, and he replicated it onto a piece of silver. It's customized, not purchased as is."

"An image. What kind of image? Where did you find it?" His eyes met my own. For whatever reason, he was intrigued. Not that I objected. I wouldn't have to discuss intelligent super monsters if I talked about my necklace.

"In a book of myths and legends." I gave the exact same answer I'd given Terra.

He scratched his chin. "Hm. So it's not a symbol connected to any real world civilization? It seems rather ornate for something totally fictitious, and you know how they say many legends are rooted in fact." For an average Joe, he was quite profound, less average than his modesty would suggest.

I lifted the pendant to observe its design. "If it ever bore real world significance, it was in a time long ago. Fiction can have its own iconography, just like real life."

"Art mimicking life," agreed Joe, satisfied with my answer. "Where did you find said mythology book? Is it a popular read?"

"Hardly." I almost laughed. "I found it at a library not far from my place, all while looking for something else. The book is best described as something of interest for those with nothing else to care about." I glanced around. The train to Narshe was stopped at the platform in the distance. "Well there's nothing to see here, with the dojo closed for the day."

Joe followed me off the dojo steps. "King Edgar recently asked that I start funding the construction tax. I have no objections, but will it help make any real difference? Shit must be getting hectic, if Sabin is cancelling blitz lessons to aide in the construction efforts." The merchant glanced around. "Ever wondered if the King's approach to the water shortage problem might not be correct?"

I stopped in my tracks. This was totally random. "Joe, what makes you think that?" I faced him, trying to understand whatever he implied. "What is the 'correct' way to modify your city's entire plumbing network? To dig up each street and lay pipes where needed is not Edgar's choice method. It's his _only_ method. He has no other alternative. If there were a more practical solution, he'd have tried it long ago."

Joe frowned, staring at the sidewalk pavement. "I suppose you're right Leonard. Even if you're not privy to the data and resources at His Majesty's disposal, it's common sense to presume a more convenient option would've been pursued had one existed. I'm only paying a small share of tax money. I don't have the burden of monitoring construction progress and imposing the taxation. I should have more faith in the man who inadvertently rescued my humble self from Zozo." He sounded apologetic.

We continued walking. At least our discussion didn't pertain to super monster breeds, but I couldn't stop wondering about Joe's sudden skepticism. What reason did the man have to doubt Edgar's solution to the looming drought facing this capital? Did the everyman jewel merchant know something vital that King Edgar Roni Figaro did not?

_Ha ha ha!_, laughed the voice in my head. _You know how ludicrous that sounds? Is that even possible? Living in this town, he's got more immediate knowledge than you, but how could he know details lost on one of the most educated and informed people of this world? Even if Joe knew something Edgar might not, he'd share it with the King, and thus not be doubtful as he is._

My inner voice was logical, without its usual condescending righteousness. There was no point in arguing with it. I looked back at Joe. Maybe his doubt was a means of dealing with his discomfort about the whole scenario. From what little I'd heard at the farm, taxes were high already, and some people had to give up excess water use to allow those with greater needs a share of the limited water supply. Surely this wouldn't receive high approval ratings. How else was the town affected?

Regardless of how, there was tension aplenty in this capital. And it was the root cause of Joe's doubt.

_change in s & n_

The alarm screamed its desperate song, as it only would in a dire circumstance. Having large, gaping holes in the wall enclosing Tzen's government district was a very dire circumstance, for those inside.

But for us Nyufalng, it was the start of an ambition long-fulfilled.

The dissenters from House Virnone's force pulled a coupe. In any other circumstance they'd be fighting a losing battle, going on a suicide mission against the superior techniques and weaponry of their former commanders.

But in this circumstance, their brazen defiance was but the first domino in a devastating chain. Iradmiud surely informed his defecting allies about some mysterious group with the resources, knowledge, and ruthlessness to crush House Virnone and its remaining loyalists. The driven but outmatched defectors mounted a fake assault to get the House's attention. With no clue about our very existence, let alone our capabilities, House loyalists marched to the south of the government district, believing they'd crush an inferior foe before any real battle could begin.

With the loyalists preoccupied by the dissenters' riot, we stormed the northern perimeter of the government district. So few troops manned the walls here, the bulk of their comrades lured south by the diversionary riot. Qaurjaeda's gravity distortion and Sdalsyra's torrents of caustic vomit effortlessly breached the boundary walls that stood between us and loyal Tzenish nobility. Further down, our creations made similar holes with their augment abilities. All along the district's northern edge, artillery towers burned and collapsed along with sections of fortified wall, Nyufalng troops flooding into the district through the gaps.

With my left hand, I raised my kalsahun to block arrows and slugs that came our way. In my right, I held Chithagu's reins, steering him around charging chocobo riders. His powerful claws would snag each mount that passed, snapping and even severing a chocobo leg every time. His writhing tail, now studded with row upon row of bone shards, weaved back and fourth behind us, shredding any man or mount who approached from the sides and rear. Ambrose sat behind me, aiming his bow-gun, nailing any riders who Chithagu missed.

We also had something House Virnone did not, air support. If Tzen's ruling House planned on resuming sky armor production, those plans were blown to hell with the factory's power suppliers. Our flying creating dove from above, killing chocobos and House troops alike. Our flightless creations were doing their part dismantling the district's siege towers.

On reflex, I lifted my shield to block a javelin. It ricocheted off and fell to the concrete. A foot soldier rushed in, from what he presumed was a blind spot, to grab the mini-spear for a close-in thrust. Having fixed spikes to my kalsahun, I pushed at his face, driving the spikes into his eyes. The javelin fell yet again, with the man following suit.

The mounted riders pulled back. The creations chasing them staggered and collapsed, blood seeping from their faces. Behind their limp forms was a line of tower shields, pikes extended between each. Beyond the shields was something more formidable, walking artillery units armed with the spring-driven repeating orb cannons.

"Cut right!" I ordered while pulling Chithagu in that direction once I spotted an opening. I raised my shield to catch the metallic spheres raining upon us. I blocked several, but still felt the pressure, even through the hard shell and flexible padding of the kalsahun.

We ducked into an alleyway, free of the smokeless cannon balls for the moment. I looked up and saw three flying creations fall from the sky, trails of blood following their drop. If the impact didn't kill them and their riders, additional orb shots would.

We huddled behind a fence as the sound of walking mechanical feet drew closer. I peeked between fence boards and saw four Nyufalng foot soldiers collapse, each pelted with multiple orbs. Ambrose reached into a pouch on Chithagu's saddle. He pulled out a sling shot, a lighter, and a round ball of his own. "More nail bombs," he announced. "I made these yesterday." He offered me the lighter. "Do the honors when the shield wall comes by.

Seconds later, the shield formation marched past at a quicker pace than I expected, until I reminded myself that House Virnone soldiers were not rookies, even if they were brainless puppets to a petty cause. Their discipline allowed them to synchronize their steps at a quick pace while hauling large shields and long pikes. Some had spotted us. The first few marching shield troops turned into the alleyway. "Light it," said Ambrose while fitting his IED into the sling shot's band. I lit the fuse and he peeked over the fence to hurl the bomb. It bounced off one shield and rolled on the pavement before going off.

The shielded troops yelled out as their legs were blown apart at the shins. Chithagu caught on and belched one of his exploding tumors at the next row of infantry. It went over their heads and exploded behind them, spelling their deaths with a hail of twisted bone fragments. We remained behind cover, mindful not become victims of our own shrapnel.

Ambrose loaded another nail bomb and I lit the fuse. This time he pulled the band farther back for a deeper shot, aiming at the first marching armor unit. He let fly, and the bomb exploded right next to the cockpit. The war machine fell sideways, its piloting seat aflame.

I looked behind. At the opposing end of the alleyway, flames burst through a second floor window. Below the blaze, a chocobo carriage appeared with an escort of mounted cavalry. This was no decoy, for the building had been sized by our side, hence the fire. This was someone of importance being moved out, though clearly not Brofias. His escort would be heavier, and this was not the royal palace. Still this protected charge had to be a political target, a loyalist Iradmiud mentioned in his final letter. All anti-House politicians had fled the district. The only ones left were loyalists seeking haven.

I glanced back at the shield wall and cannon armors. Though Dyal'xern could needle Baokiydu much to the latter's irritation, the two could function together in a warzone. The Air-smasher was repelling the orb shots with his compressed air field, while the Sensorian was hacking into the shields with his palm spikes, his whole arms glowing like embers, the heated blades piercing and melting the shields before impaling the less durable troops. Both Pung Thoshidai were dismembering the shield-artillery unit, so chasing down the protected charge was on us.

"There!" I pointed at the fleeing wagon and jumped back on Chithagu. Ambrose had seen the spectacle and was back behind me. I grabbed the reins and spurred our mount after the travelling party.

A creation without a rider charged the party from the left. It closed the distance, but mounted troops killed it with two headshots. "Nail bomb?" I asked Ambrose.

"I got this one." I couldn't see him, but I heard him light the fuse and pull the sling. I hunched over to allow him a better aim. A well-placed explosion would kill the escorts and destroy the wagon, if he could launch it right.

The bomb flew from the Corporal's sling shot. I pulled back and weaved sideways to evade shrapnel. But in that same instant, another cannon armor was toppled. To avoid the fallen walker, the entourage cut a sharp left. Ambrose bomb flew past the party. The explosion blew one mount and rider to pieces, while a second cavalryman fell from his bird. Otherwise, the travel party was untouched.

"Damn it!" curse Ambrose. I spurred Chithagu forward, after the swerving wagon and its remaining guards. One of them looked back and saw us. He pulled back, sword drawn. I gripped my shield, until an arrow took him down. Ambrose's crossbow aim was more accurate.

"Keep on them," he urged. "If I must pick them off one by one, so be it. This bow gun is magazine-fed."

"Keep an eye on the wagon, for extra shooters," I called back. "Maybe it's got soldiers within."

Chithagu kept up with the stagecoach. Only three mounted guards remained. Ambrose aimed another bolt and nailed the backmost rider. The man slumped off his ride and the chocobo went astray. Two more guards, outside at least. The last two mounted rifleman leaned closer to the coach. Sure enough, I'd been right. In the coach's back window appeared another rifleman, this one with a clear vantage point on us.

"Stagecoach sniper," I yelled out, in case Ambrose hadn't seen the gunner.

Chance favors the prepared mind, a quote that's part of Nyufalng basic training. As we strafed to avoid the wagon sniper, a flying creation swopped down and beheaded one of the mounted riders, generating enough force to dismount the other. He fell off his mount, and was crushed beneath Chithagu's claws. The cavalry guards were dead. Nothing was left to keep us from approaching the wagon up close. We only had to out maneuver the stagecoach sniper and close in.

Chance favored us once again. Rubble from a burning tower fell to the ground, right in the chocobo team's path. The birds moved erratically, and the coach wobbled left and right. The sniper lost his position. "Close in!" I commanded. Chithagu sprinted for the jostled coach. "The wheel!" I directed. He wasted no time in clawing at the left-rear wagon wheel. I pulled back again.

The whole contraption tore from its yoke and cart-wheeled sideways, the chocobos running forward, oblivious to losing their load. The stray coach tumbled three times before coming to rest on its side. The door opened, and a man in uniform stood from within. Swaying and bloodied, he was no match for the Corporal's next arrow, a direct headshot. We charged the wreck, intent on killing the rest of the occupants.

Another man crawled from the back window, rifle in hand, blood streaking his face. Another arrow sniped him, but who else was inside? I stopped Chithagu at the wagon's corpse and commanded him to rip away the deformed roof. One last individual sat in the overturned cab, a middle-aged red-haired woman.

"You!" Ambrose sneered. "You're the lawmaker who enacted the bill on carrying children for the future military some years back."

Either his memory was long or he'd been informed of this via one of Gorukean's letters. Either way, Ambrose recognized this enemy of freedom, and traitor to womankind.

The woman tried to get up and flee, but Ambrose leaped off Chithagu and kicked the lawmaker's face. Blood sloshed from her lips as she slumped back upon the wagon ruins. "You imposed the custom of having many sons-per-household to fill the army. You even had ten sons of your own, grossly expanding your family to oppress ones like mine." He clutched his war-hammer and locked eyes with the prey. "Fuck you," he growled, bringing the hammer's claw down upon the woman's nose. Bone snapped and blood flowed as the curved spike nailed its mark. The woman twitched and fell limp, her face as broken as the stagecoach.

Though savoring the execution, this was still a warzone. I minded our surroundings. A massive building stood before us, much larger than the rest, with its own perimeter wall.

The palace of House Virnone. The newly-crowned Earl was surely within.

But for how long? Flaming spores and gold lightning bolts poured against the cracking wall, creations hard at work breaching the palace boundary. If Brofias was within, he might not stay there. Already, bodies of Tzenish troops were piling up amidst wreckages of armor units. Our numbers were ripping at the government's last defense line.

Catapults stood atop fortified pylons in the palace wall, and more catapults were fixed to upper level tiers in the palace. They were not hurling large, single boulders. Instead, each flung a load of smaller rocks that scattered in flight, peppering the area before the palace gates. Those gates themselves were blocked by armors firing their spherical metallic orbs.

I steered Chithagu behind a large oak tree for cover. As rocks and metal spheres bounced off the tree trunk's far side, I observed our measures against the wall defenders. A small group of Nyufalng infantry pulled together a shield wall of their own, blocking rocks and orbs in front while mounted creations readied their abilities behind. Sure enough, a jagged stream of sizzling energy shot from the mount, and a wall catapult was set ablaze. This operation was repeated by other groups. A shield formation was established to cover a creation, and said creation would use natural augment abilities to destroy the nearest catapult.

This loss in immobile artillery forced the mobile orb shooters to increase their efforts. Some of them marched toward our shield formations. I thought of using Chithagu's tumor bombs and Ambrose's nail bombs again, but a giant statue suddenly fell from the sky. It came down and crushed three armor units at once. Surely no average creation of ours was capable of lifting a statue that far off the ground.

Qaurjaeda the Grav-wielder was not average. He was a Pung Thoshidei. The Nyufalng's most boisterous individual landed on the fallen statue. The last nearby armor aimed both is cannons at him and let loose. With the shots aimed at him, it was just a matter of reaching up and grabbing the spheres. With minimal effort, he tossed them back at the armor, with equal force at least. The cockpit visor shattered and the armor tumbled backward, inert. In one last display, the Grav-wielder pulled all his augmented strength into a shoulder tackle against the palace gates. They buckled and deformed against his weight. Leaping backwards, he motioned for the gathered troops and creations to rush the damaged gate. Under their combined efforts, the gates burst wide open. The palace itself was breached.

"That's our cue." I pointed at the useless gates. We rode along side the Grav-wielder. "Perfect timing," I announced.

"The Sergeant's idea was a winner." Qaurjaeda flexed his clawed hands. "Brofias and General Vellanois are within. Let's kill and terminate House Virnone's royal bloodline!" Who could resist with enthusiasm like that.

We joined the troops and creations in storming the royal palace. Gate guards broke like twigs beneath our weapons and augment skills. Crossing the path between the gates and the palace entry was almost nothing.

Inside the palace, more guards awaited. Cannon-totting armors were too bulky to use inside, even in massive open hallways like this one. Shield walls and dragoons compensated for a lack of indoor artillery.

Unlike the armor units, our creations were both fast and powerful. If their weight along didn't crush the shielded infantrymen, their abilities did. The dragoons were more of a problem. A single dragoon knight managed to slay three mounted creations, riders included, on his own. Qaurjaeda took the man out, catching the knight mid-leap and slamming him into the ground head first. "We'll push this vanguard away," he announced. "You should go find the Earl. He might try bailing, what with us uninvited guests."

"Right," agreed the Corporal. "If that's so, Brofias and Vellanois are probably still on this first floor. According to Iradmiud, there's an evacuation tunnel underground, accessed from the west garden. We _can't_ allow the enemy to reach it."

"We'll give you an opening in this defense line." The Grav-wielder pointed at the depleting wall of infantry shields, and a corridor beyond. "Rush into that hallway once there's a breach."

"Got it." I looked down at Chithagu, to see if he understood. "Are you clear boy?"

"Rushing past shield wall when friends makes opening to breached. Then go hallway behind foe line." He understood, grammatical fuck-ups or not. We took our position behind thick columns. Even Chithagu fit himself behind one easily. From cover, we watched Qaurjaeda and his company shred the troops guarding the next hallway. When three entire columns of men were blown away thank to some creations' well-placed ability shots, we found our opening. Crushing the wounded and dying enemy beneath Chithagu's claws, we bolted for the hall before extra support could arrive.

Behind us, the next royal vanguard clashed with the Grav-wielder and his party. "We're coming to the conference room at the end of this hall," I said, recalling the palace map from Iradmiud. "If Brofias and the bigwigs are planning their next move, it's in that room."

"We're getting close, but don't get soft," advised the Corporal. "Brofias's personal guard may be few in number, but their fanatic loyalty is unmatched by any dragoon or artillery pilot we've met thus far."

I slowed Chithagu's pace. This corridor was empty, the guards all pulled to stop our intrusion. But if the conference room was occupied, we couldn't attract attention and lose the advantage of surprise. As we neared the hallway's end, I ordered him to proceed at a walking pace. Once there, we both dismounted. "Stay here, out of sight," I commanded. His size would not be overlooked, unless hidden. "If any stragglers come this way, kill them silently."

He nodded and sat in a shadowy cubbyhole in the corridor's wall. Ambrose and I observed the conference room before us. My prediction had been accurate.

The center of this room dipped down, surrounded by ledges on the north and south sides. On the east side, our entrance, was a stair case leading to the room's main level. Down there was a table, and gathered at that table were seven individuals of note.

They were all focused on the table top, looking down, away from our position. Ambrose peeked into the room, then motioned for me to enter and turn left, edging along the north ledge. No guards were on duty up here. We used the hardwood banisters for cover, as their closely-bunched vertical posts would conceal us from a distance. As we got closer to the party, I could see who these gathered individuals were. One was Janice Vellanois, who was now in charge of Brofias's escort guard. The next was an aged man who looked like some advisor. The last was a younger man in a fur-lined cape of House Virnone's colors, light gray and maroon, his hair gelled back like a shiny helmet, his stance regal and gallant, Earl Brofias Virnone himself.

The other four persons were identical royal guardsmen, their red capes emblazoned with House Virnone's coat of arms, and their helmets bearing a tall, miter-like crest on top.

"I will not flee!" shouted Brofias.

"My Lord," advised the older man softly. "If you stay, your future will be none. You are the last heir to His Majesty's Imperial legacy. Emperor Gestahl would not wish that you remain behind, not with this palace in jeopardy. If you perish, who will carry on the Imperial banner?"

_No one,_ I thought. If Brofias died, Gestahl's legacy would join magic in the extinction camp.

The guards and General remained inert as Brofias glared at the advisor menacingly. Suddenly, a door opened below the southern ledge. Through banister bars, I espied a messenger coming in. "Earl Brofias," he called out, stepping up to the House's leader. "The southern blockade has just been breached. Commander Venarpe was killed. That puts the southern _and_ eastern gates in enemy hands. They're coming!"

The Earl's face twisted in disgust. "DAMN THEM!" he shouted, living up to his fabled temper. If that wasn't enough, his next action broke all expectations. No amount of exaggeration could accurately describe this. Brofias pulled a knife from his belt and slashed the messenger's throat, all because the messenger delivered him bad news, a necessity of his messenger job. The man fell to his knees and slumped over in the pool of his own blood.

Brofias was a traitor, even to his own minions. His death could not happen soon enough.

The inept Earl sheathed his blade and faced the General. "Who are they? It's not the disloyal turncoats who amassed earlier, and they're definitely not Marandans."

"It doesn't matter who they are," explained the old man timidly. He looked at the messenger's corpse before pulling away. "They are competent experts in warfare, and they'll be here in minutes. You _must _leave now."

Brofias faced the room's western wall. A large sliding door stood between his party and the garden beyond. From this vantage point, I could only see the door's top rim. "FINE!" he snarled, irate but compliant. "As long as I breathe, the Empire will live on. I can always rally more disciples to the Imperial cause."

"Not if you're dead, cocksucker," Ambrose muttered. He removed two more nail bombs from his gear sack. Down below, two guards made for the sliding door, ready to open it for the Earl's evacuation.

Ambrose crept along the ledge, tracking the Earl and his party. I followed, and he offered me the lighter. "Light em' up Ajalni. With these, it ends." Holding my breath, I lit both fuses.

My heart was thundering. I clenched my teeth. We could win this. Victory was in our grasp. The last Imperial successor, his General, and some of their lackeys were down below, oblivious to our very presence. Two nail bombs would seal their fate.

Ambrose glanced through the banister's woodwork. "Shit. I can't them. The floor must slope downwards. I'll have to stand if I'm to hit the marks." He rose to his feet, homemade nail bombs in hand, their smoking fuses measuring the lifespan of Brofias, Vellanois, and their puppets below. Standing at his full height, he raised his arms to issue the death sentences.

A door opened, the same door from which the messenger entered. I saw two more guardsmen coming in, their eyes on the fleeing travel party. Only then did I make the connection, understanding what lie in their field of vision.

I couldn't envision the next event. It just happened.

"ENEMY ABOVE!" shouted a newly arrived guard as the nail bombs left Ambrose's hands. They'd seen him standing as they came in.

I raised my shield and rolled away from the wooden guardrail. I'd not seen the guards' weapon share. Their capes concealed their arsenals. But whatever they had, I knew they'd send it our way. Hunched up, covered with my kalsahun, I could see the weapons of choice. Dozens of foot-long throwing spikes whizzed by me and above me. Some bashed into the shield. Others pierced the wall. The wooden banisher was cut to ribbons. The guards were tossing those needles with deadly speed, power, and range, a fitting skill for the royal defense.

The nail bombs went off below, but the blasts weren't my only thought. Ambrose had been standing when the guards spotted him, and he'd not been holding his shield.

_change in s & n_

"My apologies, King Edgar." Colonel Frennard hung his head.

"Don't feel bad. You did everything I asked." I tried lifting his spirits, though it did nothing to alleviate my own doubts.

Our search and scan of the moogle mines revealed nothing. The recon team combed each chamber and twisty passage, only to find monster breeds long since documented in the biology files. The strange new spike beast that killed Frank Maydecker remained evasive. I sat in a chair of the command center's briefing room, reading the scout party's report once more. It confirmed what I suspected; the spike creature was not native to the Verdsanath mines, and came from elsewhere.

"What now Sire?" Jerom's question was mine too. "Surely they will strike again."

I folded my hands and glanced at the table. "Let's review everything we know thus far. They attacked Shedairah, and shortly after Vonius Kades's team recovered monster samples from the facility, the leech monster washed ashore. Once in the lab, it went berserk, destroying most of the equipment."

The Colonel nodded in recognition. "I was there Sire. I helped treat Doctor Marquez's wounds."

"Shortly afterwards, Ulltros and Chupon secretly went back to Dragon's Neck Coliseum with Lone Wolf," I recalled. "The werewolf man killed members of the audience, knowing we'd be called to investigate. It was a means to draw us out. As Setzer flew back here with Lone Wolf, the other two beasts attacked and crippled the Falcon." I looked up at the Colonel. "I'm seeing a pattern. They're neutralizing our assets. First came Shedairah, one of the most essential suppliers of petrol and high-grade metals in this kingdom, and a high-profile army base. Then came that leech, intent on dismantling the lab. Ultros, Chupon, and Lone Wolf put their heads together and executed a plan to immobilize the fastest airship known to Sayitheren."

"What of Maydecker's killing?" asked Jerom thoughtfully. "It was an unfortunate loss of life, but aside from his death, there were hardly any widespread consequences. The Verdsanath mine still functions, and we've kept the incident classified, preventing public hysteria. What does his death accomplish for these creatures?"

"I wish I knew, but it likely serves a purpose. Even a distraction serves purpose." I massaged my temples in frustration. "What are they after? They're after something. We've established this non-human foe to have intelligence on a high level."

"They might deem Figaro a threat to their supremacy, or some goal along such lines," he suggested. Any idea was better than none. "Aside from the Olistes killings, done to grab your attention at that, there have been no monster attacks outside Figaro soil. Countries such Nikeah and Vardigga, even those independent city-states Illstenham and Spervang claimed no such incidents have plagued them, and we've asked at least twice. The Fondanin attack was the work of Zozo gangs, not evolved monsters. It would seem Figaro, and you Returners in particular, have incurred the monsters' wrath."

"This is the world's leading country with regards to tech and military endeavors." Though I was boasting of my nation's assets, such preening didn't satisfy. These very strong points had made Figaro the target of monster attacks, if Jerom's theory were true. It was just a theory, but there was a large enough pattern to suggest it was valid. "The monsters see this country, and myself, as competition perhaps. If they seek to cripple Figaro, they'll certainly go after lesser countries next, if supremacy is their goal."

Constant use of the word 'if' brought out more confusion. 'If' was merely a suggestion, something with no solid proof. My hand tensed, and my palm slapped the table surface, the noise resonating off the walls.

"Sire?" Jerom asked. "If you need a moment-"

"I don't Colonel. I'm just…aggravated. We have so many theories and so little evidence to prove them." I breathed deeply. "I never thought I'd say this, but I prefer the Empire to the monsters."

"My Liege, are you serious?" The Colonel's eyebrows shot up, his mouth falling open. "Why is that?"

I faced him and explained myself. "Even before my father died, I knew about Gestahl's dominion. Upon taking the throne and proclaiming a public alliance, I learned even more about the Imperials. For ten long years I studied them, spent a full decade memorizing their strengths and weaknesses, looking away from Imperial campaigns so I could finally strike when the time came. There was nothing mysterious about Gestahl or Kefka. These new monsters however, are plenty secretive. We know barely anything, save for their intelligence defies the laws of biology."

Jerom nodded, seeing my point. "I understand King Edgar. Better the nemesis you know, than the one you don't." He adjusted his gauntlet gloves. "If there's anything I can do, issue the directive.

"We have security increased at the Verdsanath mines already. Frank Maydecker was doing just that when he died." I thought from another angle. "It wouldn't hurt to step up defense at other mines in town. The mine caves offer a cover shadow not found outside. I wonder if the spike beast went for the mine knowing it would provide cover. These things invaded Shedairah and the moogle caves, so I doubt they're natural cave dwellers."

Jerom started for the door. "It's a worthy start King Edgar. I will echo your orders. If you think of something else to be done, let me know immediately."

"Thank you Colonel. I'll be in touch." I dismissed him and slouched in my folding chair. When Leonard first told us of the Shedairah killings, I presumed the monsters were a subterranean species. With that prospect all but officially disproven, it was time to search elsewhere. Though a great deal of the Hyaxulan Mountains was lost to the great collapse, they still had plenty of spread to the north, and those mountains were heavily wooded. A forest search would be in order.

A knock sounded on the open door. "Come in," I said. The new arrival was a man dressed in a business robe. "How might I help you?"

"Good evening Your Highness. I come on behalf of the farmers in the northeast of town."

A representative from the Farming Guild. I bit my lip. Did this have anything to do with the slowed progress on the city's new plumbing? "State your business, good sir."

I offered him a seat, but the guild leader declined. "King Edgar, the farmers in the northeast want those new water supply lines extending to their district."

Was that all? I knew that much, and the guild leader surely was aware of that. "The construction is moving along as best as it can with the funds available. They'll have new water lines soon enough."

"I've been saying that, and they're not convinced." The guild man shook his head. "The more I tell them such, the less they believe it."

Somehow, this didn't surprise me. "You need to have conviction in your words. Speech alone won't do it."

"King Edgar." The guild man pressed his hands on the table and leaned forward. "The people are starting to sound impatient. I don't want to attribute hostility to their objections, but they're not waiting around happily as they once did. It's obvious my words are not enough. I believe you should speak with them yourself."

With his eyes on me like so, I knew he wasn't fabricating his tale. I'd not been around the agriculture districts as he'd been, so he knew the mindset there better than me. "Okay. I will set a time to visit the farming community and speak to them in person."

"Having spoken with them myself, I feel you should do more than just talk," urged the guild man. "You might want to show them actual construction progress, provide them data you have that's unavailable to me. A simple speech alone won't do, else they'd believe mine."

"Well your simple speech in here is enough to convince me." I tried getting a laugh, but only the guild leader smiled. I could not. "I will definitely gather some data to convince them of my progress."

"A wise plan King Edgar. You can't afford to lose the peoples' trust." Something in his words felt disturbing. The way he spoke, he was implying I was in danger of losing charisma and credibility. My wife never believed my reputation was at stake, and she was born in a country sometimes called the 'Botany Capital of the World'.

But she'd not interacted with the city's farmers personally. This guild leader did on a regular basis. He knew something that Charise and I did not.

What did he know? I'd have to meet with the town's farming community and discover it for myself.

_change in s & n_

Groans of pain rose from the conference room's main level, along with gray smoke plumes. But I didn't peek through the remaining banister columns to espy the carnage. I'd checked myself for injuries and found nothing of importance. My attention was now on the Corporal beside me.

Ambrose had just barely tossed his nail bombs when the guardsman saw him and unleashed their storm of throwing spikes. He managed to grab his shield from his belt and block and few spikes. His cuirass also did its job, though his leather jacket was ripped and torn beyond salvaging. Still, a pool of blood oozed beneath him.

"Corporal," I called him softly. Though our presence was no longer a secret, I wouldn't announce myself to any survivors below. They'd seen him, but not necessarily me.

He sat up, grunting. The blood pool grew in size, and his injury became clear. "Your leg," I pointed out. Ambrose looked down to see the guards' handiwork. Two large needles were embedded in his right thigh, piercing through major vessels and arteries. He put down the shield and tore a loose piece of fabric from the remains of his coat, tying the strand around his thigh. This did little but slow the bleeding.

"That won't do shit," I insisted. "You need real medical supplies for that type of wound."

"We've no time," he said stoically. "We have to stop Brofias's escape. Look!"

I finally peered through the banister. The sight below was impressive, but not complete. Because the nail bombs were seen by the guards, the explosions did not entirely catch unsuspecting targets. The old Gestahl-loving advisor was dead, as was Janice Vellanois. Despite her bulky armor, the General wore no helmet. Her body lay on its back, the face shredded into non-existence from the shrapnel. Three more guards lay motionless, and two others were limping. The main target however, was almost untouched. Brofias had but a few cuts and scratches. Someone covered him from the blast. There were more new arrivals, ones who'd come in just after the bombs went off. Extra soldiers were gathering around their Earl and his injured guards. "Un-jam the door!" ordered a gruff voice. "We must get Earl Brofias to the escape tunnel."

I stared at Ambrose. "Use more nail bombs. If that wound isn't patched properly, you'll bleed out."

"Those were my last two," he announced. "It's now or never."

"The others should be…" I stopped myself. Would they come here? Even if so, how soon would that be? They were all taking down the defense lines protecting this area. We snuck past a momentarily-stunned vanguard. Only Ambrose, Chithagu, and I were here. "Chithagu," I realized. "He's here. We can kill off the survivors with his help."

As I said this, more guards and troopers rushed in. Ambrose pulled me close. "Too many are down there. We can't fight them directly, but I'm not retreating. I didn't come here to watch the last heir of the Empire escape. We're so close, I will not permit failure."

There was no arguing with his conviction. But he'd already pointed out the superior numbers below. "How can we fight them if they outnumber us like you said?"

"Ajalni, before we left Albrook, I learned one particular spirit technique for use in a time like this. It's the only technique I mastered, but it will get the job done."

I didn't really comprehend his words. The mechanical doors were grinding open. Though damaged by the bombs, they were still functional. "You're going head-to-head with the House's royal guard?" Surely he knew this, and knew what chance he had against them in a direct match. Ambrose was no rookie, but he wasn't the greatest expert in the Nyufalng. And the royal guards had already proven their deadliness using those throwing spikes.

"I'll get the job done," he repeated with confidence and resolve. "Don't worry about me. My family is waiting."

"You're family? They've been dea-" Now I understood Ambrose in full, his refusal to get medical attention, and the special technique he'd referenced.

He removed his leather glove and touched my arm. "You and the rest have other missions ahead. The Duke of Maranda, your longtime enemies on the Jrysthovuhn Council, and you know who else. My destiny is here. This is my homeland, and I will make the change I've dreamed about for almost a decade." He withdrew the touch and presented his bow-gun. "Get Chithagu and distract the soldiers. That will give me a clear shot at Brofias."

The beast in question was now behind me, drawn over by the needle storm, his bulk overlooked now by the chaos below. Had he created more tumor bombs, he'd have spit them already. I took the Corporal's crossbow, and his hand. His plan was undeniable, his drive indomitable. The doors continued opening with that grinding noise. When they stopped someone issued another directive. "Check for the enemy. More of them could reach this point!" The doors were moving again.

"Go Ajalni." Ambrose all but shoved me away. "May the Divine resonate within you." He gave me a smile, grabbed his shield, and drew his hammer. There was one final task for him to accomplish, and I'd help him with it.

I got back on Chithagu and ordered him to rush back into the hallway. In passing, I shot an arrow down the stairs. Some troops were ascending, and one of them went down. I'd gotten their attention, and for a split second saw Ambrose break a square window at the end of the walkway. He leapt through as the doors slid open. Then the troops were storming our position. I urged Chithagu back down the hall, using my shield and his wagging spiked tail for cover, steering him side to side so enemy archers couldn't line up a clear shot. His foot speed outmatched that of the infantrymen. Several meters down, I looked back to fire once more, and saw a brilliant flash behind the enemy line. But I couldn't inspect it now, as I was leading these troops back to Qaurjaeda and his party.

Brofias's death was all in the Corporal's hands now.

_change in s & n_

Sabin was generous to schedule a make-up lesson, but it wasn't really a true lesson. He did allow me into the dojo room to practice, but was nonetheless preoccupied, more interested in the plumbing progress than my own. The blitz master was upstairs looking at city maps. I could've easily stayed home and practiced in my large den, but I was already here, so I'd make the best of it.

As I swung with my knife and axe, the doors opened. "There you are Leonard." A woman's voice called my name, but this wasn't Terra's. I instead found Celes in the doorway. "Sabin said you'd be here at this time, so I came. Though I'll wait until your training session reaches a break."

"I'm just reviewing old drills." I put my weapon down on the closest table. Her company would provide something new. "This isn't much of a lesson, so chatter is welcome."

I took a seat on the bench along the wall. She pulled out a chair and sat across the table from me. "Terra said you two had another get-together, at a school campus in Narshe, and that you started coming clean about you family background."

"That I did, and she probably told you about my father and his greed."

"She also told me about going to Arvis's place shortly afterward, trying to convince him that you're not a malicious person."

I laughed. "Her efforts are valiant, but her time was wasted in the end. The man doesn't want to look at me through any lens but the hateful prejudice one. When I met him at the office and he lashed out, it wasn't the first time. He'd given me that venomous rhetoric some years prior. Nothing's changed since."

"He didn't change his opinion," Celes agreed "but he did give Terra something new. She says he called you the 'betrayer's offspring'. I'm sure that references your dad's activities. Though he didn't elaborate, Terra's visit was not a complete waste."

Somehow, I wasn't surprised. Arvis hadn't created that infamous moniker. He was merely echoing it like many others in town. While he made allusions to my father's wrongdoings that day in his office, he'd not suggested betrayal of any part. Now though, he was getting more specific. At least he didn't spell out the meaning of my infamous nickname. But given time, he'd spill the beans.

"So he's out to share the long-buried truth, put aside but certainly not forgotten." I looked into the blonde woman's bright blue eyes. "I've no doubts you're interested."

"It's Terra's mindset I'm discussing, not so much my own. We both agree that you should be the one to spell out the truth, but we don't want to force it. It can only be your choice." She was quiet, as if thinking of her next sentence. "I won't ask specifically, but I can envision 'betrayer's offspring' might suggest your father was a business partner of Arvis and his group, and turned against them for his own gain."

"Hardly." Her idea was interesting, but inaccurate no less. "The moniker extends far beyond those who personally knew my father, as the 'betrayal' in question is _waaaaaaayyyy_ more extreme."

"Oh." She leaned back. "I won't pry, but thanks for the clarification. Terra should hear the secret before me, since you're her love interest."

"Her…" Celes had finally put into words something I'd thought much about lately, ever since our first official date at Ghearn's Coop. "Yes, well, the feeling is mutual." I should've said it long before, yet I was so intent on the actual feeling and experience, putting it into words felt like a distraction.

"Yes it is, and you should know how much she has to share with you." Celes drummed her fingers on the stone tabletop. "She's revealed a lot already."

"Like the human-esper romance and your half-esper friend." I reiterated the more significant revelations. "Having learned stuff like that, more awaits me for sure." I watched Celes smile at my enthusiasm. "By the way, where is Locke? Don't you and he often stick together when visiting?"

The blonde Returner tugged at a belt loop on her jeans. "Leonard, we live together. That doesn't mean we're fused together like conjoined twins. We do go our separate ways. He left before I did, as he wanted to ask Joe about someone. Joe left to visit a sick friend in Quildern a while back, and since we live in that town, Locke is curious where this other guy does business."

"Joe," I said the merchant's name slowly.

"What about him?" Celes asked.

I recalled my last meeting with him. "Nothing major, but when I saw him last, outside this dojo following a cancelled lesson, Joe was talking about Edgar's methods of re-plumbing the town." I looked her square in the eye once more. "He actually wondered if Edgar's doing the right thing in digging up and re-piping most of the town, as if the King has some other alternative that was never considered."

"Really?" Her eyes brows went up some. "I guess it's natural for a plebe like him to question the procedure. I've spoken with merchants who are closing parts of their business, to provide water for those who need it most. A hardware store is liquidating its bonus nursery because the plants need so much water to stay alive."

Her words brought a new prospect to light, making Joe's critical skepticism much more understandable. "He mentioned that he's now paying tax money for the plumbing upgrades. He might worry that his payment could be all for naught. And if he can worry, so can the rest of the taxpayers, a whole city of 'em."

There was nothing to contribute on this topic. Neither Celes nor I lived in this town, so the taxation didn't apply to us. The Returner got our discussion back on a more positive subject. "Go see Terra, when you can."

And it was a subject with more relevance to my interests. "Already a priority. I have more 'learning' to do."

_change in s & n_

The sounds of battle were dying down.

When I lured the troops and guards away from the meeting room, hardly any foes remained in the east entry hall. Qaurjaeda and his group had pretty much disposed of them while Ambrose and I spied on Brofias and the escort. I led my pursuers into a death trap, with the Grav-wielder and those nearby disposing of this next enemy unit. With them gone, none were left to block our full advancement into the palace core.

More Nyufalng awaited us in the conference room, observing the bodies of those killed by Ambrose's last two nail bombs. Janice Vellanois's corpse was getting bagged up. As only her face was damaged, there'd be meat and blood aplenty in the cadaver.

And that is how you weaken and bring down an empire. You slaughter both its leaders and lackeys in the infancy stages, during its weakest point. This rings especially true for empires that thrive on overpopulation. Gestahl's Empire was practically born from excessive breeding, a custom carried on by House Virnone, perpetuated by individuals like that lawmaker Ambrose killed en route here.

The palace was taken. Any surviving troops and guards elsewhere in this district we being sedated or neutralized in some fashion. As the present Nyufalng did coronary work, I dismounted Chithagu to inspect one final detail. The doors to the patio were open. Outside, I found what I hoped for, and expected.

Five bodies lie out here, and a huge mark stained the garden's checkerboard walkway stones. Two royal guards lay slumped against the exterior wall, their armor shattered, one missing a helmet, the wall panels behind both of them cracked and bloodied. Something had blown them around with such force, their bodies cracked the mortal walls on impact. Another guardsman lay on his back, an arm and a leg missing, the severed limbs across the courtyard inside a tree planter. The fourth corpse wore an elegant mantle and slicked-back hair. This body lay amidst fragments of a broken statute, a piece of sculpted concrete pressing down on the man's chest. Blood seeped from his mouth, and his eyes locked with mine, but only in form. Those eyes could no longer see. Rest in pieces, Brofias Virnone.

The fifth and final corpse was in the center of the sprawling dark stain. This was a young man on his back with chin-length hair, wearing a torn up leather jacket, a scratched and dented plate mail cuirass beneath, black army fatigue pants, and combat boots. His left hand gripped a small square shield with rounded corners, and his right gripped a battle hammer with a spear tip added to the end. Two needles stuck out from his right thigh.

He did it. Ambrose Guellad finally made that change he longed for. Not only that, he was the person to directly kill the Earl.

I dropped to my knees and touched his cheek. His skin still felt warm. Some of the energy he channeled into his weapon technique had yet to dissipate perhaps. Something twitched in my eye, making me blink. Probably a fly. There were plenty of dead bodies to attract the insects.

A tall shadow came over me. I looked up to meet Sdalsyra. "It was his time by his choice Ajalni. I knew you were getting close, seeing him as the brother you never had, but this was his decision. He wanted it. Before you and he left Albrook with Baokiydu, Ambrose came to us with a final farewell. He specifically gave his best regards to Yithadri, claiming he probably wouldn't return from Tzen alive."

"That weapon trick he mentioned. It must have been the Final Inner Soul Burst. He referenced it when on the verge of bleeding to death." He'd planned it all along. I looked at the shield and scythe-hammer in my belt. "There's so much more I could've learned form you," I said, despite knowing Ambrose would not reply. "You inspired me to train with the kalsahun and rangamju combination."

"What he learned, you can learn," Sdalsyra pointed out. "He was trained by Ruqojjen and Yithadri, just like you. Because of him, the rest of us can move on. We have business elsewhere. Our job here in Tzen is done."

I looked at the Corporal's face. Some blood trickled from his mouth, one eye was tightly shut, and the other was drooping, more than half closed. I closed this eye in full and stood up.

It was over. We'd won. House Virnone could join Sireck and Edrina's late House of Albrook as a dictatorship crushed by the Nyufalng, another credit to our efficiency. Iradmiud Gorukean and his Cabinet could take things from here.

There was no longer a remnant of Gestahlian will. It died with Brofias, whose demise marked the end of House Virnone's royalty. The youth who'd lost everything and joined the Nyufalng to make a difference lived up to his ambition, and his death ultimately made that dream a reality. Knowing that he'd referenced them in his final moments, I knew full well that Corporal Ambrose Guellad was among his family once again.


	29. The World Beneath Reality

**Chapter 29: The World beneath Reality**

My last blitz lesson was little more than a rehash-and-review drill, something I could've accomplished at home. That being such, I could easily practice old techniques here at my place. My downstairs den served the purpose. Just pushing the coffee table against the couch provided all the room I needed.

Sabin was probably out helping the construction workers again, just as he'd been two lessons back, when he put a notice on the door saying the day's lessons were cancelled. It was obvious now. Though I only worked in Figaro City and my workplace's plumbing had been upgraded some time ago, the city-wide waterworks project was altering my life in this way. If this kept up, what would transpire next? So far, the dairy farm's new pipe system was doing its job, but would that last? Probably more unexpected turns lie ahead. Sabin cancelling blitz lessons was only one such twist.

Though preparedness was always an essential, no one could accurately contend with the next setback until it happened, not even Edgar, the man at the center of it all. I had no part in the whole plumbing affair, even though it recently made a difference in my life, a small but obvious impact. The best I could do now was train independently in the blitz techniques I'd learned so far. Plumbing issues or not, there were still new breeds of super monsters out there.

What happened in the moogle mine, when the Lieutenant was on patrol during the wee hours? According to Edgar's telegraph message, the white furred-creatures didn't see or hear anything abnormal. They'd already been questioned about cave beasts, and the answer was expected. Nothing indigenous to that mine would produce such injuries found on the Lieutenant. As much as I dreaded news of the monsters' comeback, my curiosity was invoked. If I got the chance, I'd pay a visit to mines, and seek out Mog. Hopefully, he wasn't blaming this death on Umaro. The yeti was still caged, last I'd heard.

I swung about with my axe and stabbed swiftly with my knife. While practicing some back-turned attacks for would-be opponents that could strike from behind, the telegraph machine buzzed upstairs. Ten minutes of axe-and-dagger play was long enough, so I climbed the stairs and went for my room to inspect the new message.

It was another note from Terra. She was interested in another get-together, and had already picked a place. Her choice location was certainly a curious one with uniqueness aplenty, the snowy hills along the northern outskirts of town.

Her letter didn't explain why she chose this particular spot, but knowing Terra, I knew there was a valid reason. My fingers danced about the typewriter keys as I wrote a response, expressing interest in her offer. I asked for her availability. If Sabin was cancelling my lessons, he was likely cancelling hers to. If we both had sessions cancelled around the same time, we could take advantage of that. At least something good might come of Sabin forfeiting training sessions.

_change in s & n_

"Great catch with those orbs." I praised Qaurjaeda's performance of grabbing a couple sphere shots during the final siege in Tzen.

"For you maybe, but I'm used to that. It's nothing." The Grav-wielder hauled another package of 'energy drinks' into the cable car and slid the door closed. "My shits produce more kinetic energy than those cannon spring mechanisms."

His bathroom jokes never got old, even after knowing him all this time. "On a good day with a fully-charged essence, you're probably right." I pulled the switch, and the cable car started upwards toward Yithadri's hilltop dome. Yithadri wasn't within, but her aides directed us to her location in one of the side structures.

We found the Honored Shamaness in her personal quarters, relaxing on her bed, clad in a sleeveless top and glossy leather bell jeans. Her choice reading material was a Tzenish newspaper. "Good day Yithadri," I said. "Where'd you get that?"

She looked up from the pages. "After House Virnone was destroyed, many townspeople were curious about who liberated their city-state. Ruqojjen had another private meeting with Iradmiud Gorukean and laid out some final conditions. He vowed to respect Tzenish neutrality, so long as they keep away from our affairs beyond. He also permitted Gorukean to spread some 'rumor' about those who crushed the House. He didn't say too much, just enough to invoke curiosity, which was growing already." Yithadri handed us the newspaper.

The entire chronicle was full of stories about post-House freedom. A photograph of Iradmiud Gorukean, now Prime Minister of Tzen's Cabinet, was on the front page. He and some other defected politicians were pictured burning a House Virnone flag outside a building in the Nausetine district. A colored graphic of the new flag was printed just below. Though it bore the colors of pre-Imperial Tzen, it was not the old three-by-two grid design. This new flag was red on the left third and black on the other two. Centered in the black field was a red image, the Cabinet's insignia.

Flipping through the pages revealed my personal dream had materialized. Women no longer wore baggy, shapeless garments to 'hide' themselves in public. One image showcased a group of young girls dancing in a local park wearing short skirts and strapless tops, a sight only found in a post-Imperial Tzen.

"Tzen is not considered our ally, but Gorukean and his Cabinet agreed to keep their noses out of our business," Yithadri went on. "The Cabinet only seeks a future for its nation. Empire-building was never on their agenda. As for the Tzenish people, they too just want to rebuild and move on. Others however, lost everything but their lives, and can only move on by moving out. Thus, we have more newcomers from Tzen looking to join our ranks."

Had Ambrose known his death would inspire his fellows Tzenish to rethink their course in life? No matter. Tzen's government was staying neutral, and some of its people were adding to our numbers. That was enough. "I take it their military is only set on defense against Maranda."

"That's correct," affirmed Yithadri. "The Duke is still out there, and we all know his abilities and aspirations. And he's aware his own people didn't crush House Virnone, so he'll surely look into who did."

"Let me guess. The spoiled sport doesn't like competition," Qaurjaeda mused. "He can't aggrandize himself with House Virnone's demise, so he'll seek to outmatch those responsible. Oh well. We Nyufalng are prepared for this kind of shit, so it's no surprise."

"We only have one enemy on this continent, but it's clear and obvious now." I folded the paper and returned it to the Shamaness. "No longer can we blame our actions against one foe on another. Our total secrecy will be compromised." With House Virnone extinct, we could now focus on the last remaining enemy here on the southern continent.

Despite his title, Duke Sindreo Geminsa was a small timer among Marandan nobility, for most of his life anyway. The man had little to no political influence. He was always rambling about glory and how fabulous he was, yet this was nothing but cheap talk repeated verbose over the years. His only real feat in life was fueling his own narcissism. The man was all talk and no action.

Not that action was really available to him. For much of his life, the Duke was held in close check by Gallisirva Cazore, Maranda's ruling Empress. Gallisirva was renowned and revered by the vast majority of the Marandan kingdom, earning her the title of 'Gallisirva the benevolent'. This mass following and worship was derived from her idealism and absolute faith in law. In three words, she was 'strict but kind'.

There's no greater oxymoron. 'Strict but kind' was the public perspective, but we Nyufalng saw the truth. 'Strict but kind' was merely a politically-correct substitute for bossy but naïve. She imposed rules and regulations under the guise of compassion, yet failed to understand that setting too many rules is the quickest path to barbaric anarchy. This was exponentially more relevant in her case, as she was strict in her rules but lacked the cunning edge to prepare for inevitable resentment, hence the 'kind' part. But few people realized her weakness. No one ever questioned virtue, mercy, or idealism.

One person actually did see the Empress's flaws, the repressed Duke. To him, she was strict and strict alone. It did him no favors that she was popular, getting all the attention he wanted for himself. There were rumors claiming Sindreo was infatuated with Gallisirva, and supposedly held a grudge after she rejected him (admittedly, Gallisirva was pleasant to the eyes). This was never ascertained, and it made little sense. He had no reason to fall for the person who stood between him and his beloved entitlement. But, Sindreo Geminsa wasn't the wisest man back then.

The Empress herself soon found a man who was the total opposite of Sindreo. Count Turianse Montrino perfectly mirrored Gallisirva's humble and chivalrous nature, so it was expected that he'd soon become Emperor Turianse, and she'd be known as Gallisirva Montrino. Maranda officially celebrated the royal wedding, but the Duke was more furious than ever, for now his oppressor had a partner in tyranny.

This was the final straw. From resentment, rage, or possible jealousy at his fabled love interest finding another man, Sindreo Geminsa lost his temper not a month after the wedding. He personally trespassed on the palace grounds one evening and made an attempt on Gallisirva's life, throttling her with a set of chocobo reigns. The blabbermouth who talked so much and did so little finally got off his ass and did something with his life, but it proved futile. Turianse and the royal guard subdued him, and the Duke was ultimately tried and convicted of would-be assassination.

By now, it was obvious that Sindreo was a threat to Gallisirva, not some petty nuisance who could be swept under the carpet. The logical response would be execution.

But Gallisirva would not end a life, even with probable cause. She refused anything that she considered vice or corruption, which was almost anything and everything. Her aspirations of sainthood were more important than maintaining a functional IQ. Sindreo was jailed and stripped of what little significance he had, but Gallisirva and Turianse unwaveringly believed they could 'set the Duke on the righteous path'. His life was spared and he was put to use as a laborer, a condition of his sentence. He viewed this as slavery, and though hardly a bright bulb, his intellect was starting to eclipse hers by this time.

The Duke was overshadowed shortly afterward, for the Empire set its eyes upon Maranda. The Imperials demanded a share of Marandan goods, and while Turianse and Gallisirva were too polite for their nation's own good, they had no interest in sharing products with the greedy Imperials. A march against Maranda followed suit.

Gallisirva had already fucked up in sparing the Duke's life. Now it was her husband's turn to play public idiot. His response to the invading Imperials was nothing short of pathetic. He rallied the Royal Marandan Vanguard, intent on fighting the invaders directly, the exact thing the Imperials were prepared to crush. Even with inferior weapons and manpower, Turianse Montrino refused to utilize guerilla tactics, or anything he deemed 'ignoble' or 'under-handed'. A strict code of conduct was the only means to a worthwhile life, so he believed.

As battle records told, Turianse and his men formed a line of cavalry before the invaders, blowing a horn to announce their presence, and give their enemy a 'fair' chance. Fighting fair never put its practitioners at such an unfair disadvantage until that day. Chivalry, politeness, and noble conduct never win wars. This case was no different. No sooner did Turianse lead a cavalry charge did the Imperials fire up their elemental cannons. Turianse Montrino and his followers were incinerated to dust in minutes. The battle was over before it even started.

This should have awoken the people of Maranda. Their very leader, who imposed strict rules and regulations in the name of purity and protection, failed to defend his country when it mattered the most. Turianse Montrino wasn't a victim of Imperial weapons or brutality, but of his own ignorance and failure to understand those who didn't embrace moral pureness.

But the weak-minded fear of 'impurity' continued thriving. Gallisirva, newly-widowed, was approached by Imperial ambassadors, demanding her submission to Gestahl's will. To their surprise, she refused, still clinging to her blind-sided idealism. The Imperials responded in kind, making an example of her goodness. One of Gestahl's more grizzly campaigns, the Torching of Maranda, commenced. Helpless afterward, Gallisirva's rule was reduced to a puppet state of the Empire.

The Duke was spared, for he had no desire to intervene with The Imperials' humbling of his longtime foe. He even spread word that the Empress was to blame for Marandan subjugation, that Gallisirva's methods and beliefs were outdated and would rob Maranda of its future. Not that he liked the Imperials. After all, they were stealing his precious glory. But his diatribe against the 'benevolent' Empress would later spread.

"Did you gather up the Divine's next meal?" asked Yithadri.

"We've got a full load, awaiting your inspection." I referenced a means to adequately prepare for the Duke's inevitable onslaught.

The Shamaness stood up. "Perfect. I'll assist you with unloading it." She looked down at Quarjaeda, who stood shorter than me, only because he never stood with straight legs. "No need in using your essence for mundane tasks like this. And I always like to keep in shape."

We followed her back out into the dome. Another person had joined Yithadri's clerics overlooking the chamber's central pit, the Moihzadu.

Possibly one of Yithadri's greatest pupils, the Moihzadu possessed a unique mental power. It wasn't all-out mind-reading, but if he focused enough on a certain individual, he could understand certain traits of the said person. And this was but half his talent. The Moihzadu was just as skilled with weapons, and could use many types with formidable proficiency.

Nonetheless, his abilities were limited. He wasn't a Pung Thoshidei, nor did he bear augmentations of any level. As a result, his stamina was average tops, and he lacked natural healing abilities. By this time, I likely had more raw stamina than him. In fact, he recovered from injuries much more slowly than the typical un-augmented members of our group. It was maybe a hex placed upon him by the Jrysthovuhn Council.

The Moihzadu had always been a renowned cleric, so he was high-standing among the Council pre-Nyufalng. However, he took to Ruqojjen and Yithadri's ideas of modernization and liberation. Like all defectors, he was declared a public enemy. He often wore a mask or wrapped a bandage around his head to mask vicious facial scars. Before getting exiled like all Nyufalng members of Jrysthovuhn birth, he was beaten by the Council's goons. Though he survived (thanks to us), the scars were just as fresh today as they were years ago. Maybe this physical vulnerability was a tiny hex the Council's loyal clerics placed on him during the said beating. If that were so, even Ruqojjen and Yithadri had yet to uncover a means of neutralizing it.

Though we'd kicked the ass of two royal houses on this continent, we still couldn't face down our first enemies…yet.

The Moihzadu hobbled over to us, still limping from a wound of more recent times. "Might I help you with the task at hand?" His voice was something between a mumble and loud, hissing whisper. He didn't speak much.

"Maybe later, once we unload the 'snacks'." Yithadri placed a hand on his shoulder. "Until then, don't hurt yourself, lest you spare our enemies the trouble."

"Mm-Hmm," he mumbled simply, not even laughing at Yithadri's joke. He then limped over to join the Shamaness's aides in mediation on the chamber's central platform.

"Any info on the Duke's next move?" asked Qaurjaeda as we exited the domed room.

"Not yet. It's likely he's still pondering who could've beaten him to the slaying of House Virnone." The Honored Shamaness gestured widely, referencing our collective organization. "Once our contacts know stuff, we'll know."

"Whatever he's planning, we'll be ready." Qaurjaeda slid open the cable car door and grabbed one of the crates, wheeling it away on the loading cart. Yithadri and I grabbed the next two.

"We did hear from Tanrevilt," Yithadri announced. "His new acquaintance has some rather…curious wisdom." She explained in further detail.

I stopped in my tracks. "Does he know anything?"

"According to the Sergeant, not much. In fact, the guy downplays that wisdom."

_change in s & n_

"Watch this." Locke drew his boomerang. "This is what I've been practicing."

The treasure hunter received the undivided attention of Ziegfried, Cyan, and I. Celes was in charge if their storefront in Quildern today, giving Locke the chance to show off his new weapon skill.

Locke stepped forward, extended his right arm, and let loose the V-shaped throwing blade. It spun horizontally, not losing an inch of height on the path to its mark, an overstuffed sandbag placed on a storage crate for elevation. The weapon slashed into the sack's burlap exterior, slicing open the fabric and spilling bits of sand before bouncing off and faithfully spinning back to Locke's gloved fingertips.

"It returns to the Returner," I joked. "I know that already. What's the new talent up your sleeve?" I had a schedule to keep, and wanted to see this new trick before I had to leave.

"So nice that you'd ask Edgar." He tossed his weapon upwards, whereupon it arched over to his other hand. "As you can see, that target is quite thick, and this weapon only cut the surface. Armored soldiers or thick-skinned beasts would deem this weapon a joke, were it not for a soul-charge technique that amplifies its kinetic energy." He looked down at his weapon, as though he were looking inside it, or imbuing his essence into it.

Locke gauged his targets again. Two more sandbags were lined up behind the first, each placed five feet away from the next. The weapon flashed. It was definitely charged.

With another wide, right-hand toss, the glowing boomerang spun toward the ripped sandbag. With no real expectations, I was hardly surprised at the results. The boomerang slashed into the first bag, which vanished in a cloud of dust and toppled backwards off the box. The spinning blade went on its course, cutting into the next bag with a similar dust cloud. It too fell from its crate. The boomerang came upon the final sandbag, burying itself more than halfway inside. There was no dust eruption, nor did the bag fall from its support. However, the weapon still penetrated the densely-packed sand with more power than I believed it could produce. Boomerangs were lightweight.

Cyan clapped his hands. "Most impressive, Locke Cole."

"I'll say." The treasure hunter admired his work. "There's just one catch. The weapon does not retrace its path to your hand." He reached for the boomerang as if to catch it, but the weapon stayed put, embedded in the sandbag.

I scratched my chin. "Why is that? Does the energy no longer steer the weapon in flight once it's boosting the attack strength?" Maybe I was onto something.

"Such a small weapon can only hold so much energy once the user lets go," clarified Ziegfried as Locke removed his boomerang. "The small amount of soul essence can only grant the blade one task at a time."

Locke sheathed his throwing blade. "Are you still interested in my close range combat skills?" He asked of the champion. "I have just the tool for the job." He strode to the corner of the training room and came back with a sheathed sword. Drawing it revealed a glowing, pale blue blade.

Cyan's eyes lit up with their own radiance. "T'is that the Atma Weapon?"

"That it is," Locke stated ambitiously, gripping the sword with both hands. "For the last three years, this was resting in the corner of our bedroom closet, hidden beneath winter coats and bath towels. But now is the perfect opportunity to break it in once more."

Ziegfried drew his own sword with a cutlass-styled loop over the handle. "Allow me the honors. The sword's only as formidable as its user, regardless of any special attributes."

Both men wielded their two-handed swords in a frontal stance and faced off, until the gladiator swung right at the treasure hunter. Locke pulled his Atma Weapon up to block, following that with a side-step away from the gladiator's momentum. Ziegfried lifted his piece and charged Locke with a thrust, only for Locke to strafe once more and raise the Atma for a downward chop. Ziegfried halted his whiffed charge attack and spun to face his opponent, catching Locke's hand in his own and effectively blocking the chop. Locke's response was to push against the champion's grip with his left hand and pull back with his right, going for a pass of his own.

But he didn't make any thrust. He just gave that impression. Instead, he knelt down and swung upwards to chest level. Upon dodging this attack, Ziegfried lifted his long sword high for a crushing blow. Locke was on his feet, raising the Atma to deflect the vertical slash in kind.

The two swords crashed into one another. During this collision of blades, Ziegfried front-kicked Locke in his protective lamellar armor vest. Not hard, but enough to knock him down. Locke sprawled backwards and fell on his ass, though he still clutched Atma.

"Over-focused on the weapon." Ziegfried sheathed his own piece. "Not that you should be inattentive, but if you only see the enemy's weapon, you lose sight of everything else." He offered Locke assistance in standing.

"Point taken." The treasure hunter gratefully accepted the help. "You know, I'm a tad winded. It's been a while since I've swung such a huge weapon about like so. And don't forget, the Atma Weapon serves you well if you're in good shape, but wanes as your condition drops."

"A point of order," agreed Cyan. "Being out of practice as you are, stamina isn't your best asset for the time being." The Doman drew his blade. "Sir Ziegfried, another bout?"

Instead of pulling his long sword, the gladiator went for his pole-axe. He and the General went about their drill as Locke took a seat next to me. "Stamina," he noted. "I'll need to sharpen my longevity."

I watched Sky Render and great axe slash at one another. "Extra practice in your backyard should do the trick. Just make the time for it."

"When I'm not out and about, I try for at least one hour every day." Locke removed his blue bandana and wiped sweat from his brow.

"Speaking of out and about, did you pay your visit to the moogle caves?" Locke mentioned his curiosity in the Mog vs. Umaro affair.

"Actually no. I feel Terra and Leonard can do that easier than me." Locke replaced his headband. "On my last bout of free time, I stopped by to see Joe. I had another curiosity he could entertain."

"Oh?"

"I was curious about Bren, his friend in Quildern whom he visited not long ago. When I last asked, Bren was no longer ill, so I inquired about where he lived, as to meet the friend of a friend. Joe wouldn't say, so I instead asked where Bren did business, as Joe bought stuff from him on occasion."

"And?"

"Joe told me that Bren's moved to Spervang, far south of the Lucaissa Plains." Locke frowned. "I was hoping to meet the guy, but no such luck."

Spervang and Illstenham were city-states at the northern tip of the Dranaghis Highlands, where my wife's homeland was centered. Both city-states were seeking to integrate themselves into Vardigga as recognized towns of the nation. "I wouldn't worry about it that much. I can understand your curiosity, as you lived in the same town as Bren. But since that's changed now, there's no point in dwelling on the past."

"If you say so." The winded treasure hunter reclined as he watched Cyan and Ziegfried.

"Your majesty, the train is approaching." Deanne Sarholme had entered, informing me that my ride was here. I had an appointment to keep, a speech to give.

"I'm on my way." I dismissed her and addressed my company. "Gentlemen, I'm expected elsewhere in town, so I'll take my leave." The treasure hunter, General, and arena champ each bid me farewell. I left them to their training drills and made for the train stop. Deanne and Jerom awaited me. This train had been closed off to public use, allowing me to reach my destination without stops in between.

My destination was in the northeastern part of town. A man from the town's Farming Guild paid me a visit last week, claiming the farmers were growing quite displeased with the lack of new plumbing in their district. His words alone did nothing to convince them that progress was slow yet steady. It was my turn to offer the encouraging words.

The train pulled into a stop in the northeast outskirts. Though largely a farming district, there were signs of urbanization. Most of the buildings were houses, but there was a decent amount of businesses. One such place was a commerce meeting hall. Farmers often gathered here to discuss and compare business practices, and it was the ideal pace to address their concerns. Surrounded by an escort of Jerom, Deanne, and a squad of lower-ranking soldiers, we boarded a carriage and rode for the meeting hall.

A crowd was amassed at the building's front steps, no doubt waiting restlessly for me to arrive and give the speech. With the crowd gathered like so, I suggested we enter through the back. I pulled a notebook from my coat pocket, checking data I'd received from Treasury Minister Antonio Larsone and records compiled from the construction crews. Standing at mic on the board room stage, I ordered the local guards to unlock the front doors and admit the townspeople.

No sooner were the doors opened did the local residents storm inside. So many comments and questions were thrown at me I couldn't decipher a single one. However, there was a general overtone of unrest. The locals' facial expressions matched their mood.

There was no better time to begin. "Ladies and gentlemen. Settle down and I will discuss business." Loud as they were, the mic amplified my voice above their collective chatter. Those who could take seats did. Others remained standing, as the occupants outnumbered the chairs. "It's come to my attention that this district needs new water pipelines which it has yet to receive."

I barely finished my intro when the crowd exploded once more. Tapping the mic silenced that chatter again. "I can assure you, the new lines will be completed, even if slightly behind schedule." I reviewed my notes. "The current stretch is nearly one fifth complete, and the new lines are getting closer to this district. The crews are already past the halfway point between the southern coastline and these northern crops." I closed the notebook and faced the attendees. "Rest assured. The water lines are coming to you."

There came whispers from the residents, instead if the expected outbursts. From the left side of the room, a man stood and walked to the front, getting as close to the stage as my travel entourage would permit. He wore brown slacks and a plaid shirt, and his hair and goatee were a bit unkempt. "King Edgar, even if we farmers have patience, our crops do not. When the plants need water, they need water, and no less than their minimal intake. Am I correct?" He faced the crowd, who answered with a string of yes's and mm-hmm's.

I looked at the farming community's elected spokesman. "Sir, I give you my word, the construction crews are doing their best, and are hardly alone in their efforts. Various businesses that use excess water for non-mandatory functions have cut back their usage, to provide you the amounts you need. My brother even lends his strength to the construction procedures when he can, despite having to cancel lessons with his blitz students." To stress my point, I gazed widely, giving eye contact to each attendee. "You're not the only people affected by this demanding task. The whole city is paying tax money for it, and that's just one example."

A woman in the front row pulled the spokesman close and said words into his ear. He nodded, frowned, and spoke up once more. "We've been paying more than most, Your Royal Highness. Your initial policy was to bill residents in accordance with their water usage. We use the most water, so we're paying the highest amount, just as you imposed. Here we are, with several thousand less GP, and we still don't have what we paid for."

"I understand. The plumbing project has encountered a few setbacks, and is running behind schedule," I said empathetically. "Though it's creeping slowly, it's not stalled."

The spokesman farmer was silent, as were the other attendees. Maybe I'd gotten through, but their faces didn't express conviction. I was still the almighty slayer of the magical psychopath, and was elevated to superhuman status because of that. Justified or not, my people held me to great expectations. Given the looks of uncertainty displayed throughout the meeting hall, I was not living up to those expectations. Anger and disappointment were the result, especially with the town's agricultural resources at stake.

A second man stood from the row behind the spokesman. "Why is the progress taking so long? Can't you do something to speed it up? Don't the construction crews understand the needs of our crops, and how immediate those needs are?"

Sharp voice aside, the man asked a fair question. He deserved a fair answer. "I've mentioned that your crops are a prime concern, but it's possible my words were filtered out amid the construction crews' own affairs. I'll offer them a reminder."

"That would be a start." The man took a seat. I hadn't lost too much charisma, though a talk with the plumbing crews was still necessary to maintain it.

These farmers had reasons for their high expectations. Cropland was not a luxury. It was an essential, regardless of a city's natural terrain. Their demands of me made logical sense.

Or were they really demands upon me? It sounded like they were demands of the construction crews, demands that the plumbers work faster so the farming district could get its water supply. The farmers were simply asking me to pass along their demands to the piping workers, knowing my voice was more significant than any of theirs. Was this really the case?

Either way, the crop growers' patience was beginning to unravel. Maybe that would convince the Reservoir Guild to speed up the pace.

_change in s & n_

Leonard looked out the train car's window. "You know, it's funny. All this scenery looks vaguely familiar, yet I cannot recall when I last came through this part of town.

After meeting for lunch at the Chulidion Art Gallery, we boarded the train again, this time heading for the eastern part of town, where the tracks curved north, and then west, passing through the industrial and uptown districts of Narshe's northern rim.

"And to think you were giving Joe a tour of your hometown," I joked. "Maybe I should be your tour guide now."

The train stopped at our destination, a business district at the foot of the hills. "You sure we can just traipse on through there?" Leonard asked, looking up.

We proceeded through the streets. "As long as we don't pass through the labor areas. The spot in question is just undeveloped snowfield. No company lays claim to it."

Before the death of Kefka, reaching the hilltop snowfield was quite the chore. One had to go in and out of mining caves in the steep rugged cliff before reaching the top. Thanks to the post-Palazzo renewal of the city, this daunting inconvenience was among the first issues to be resolved. A series of motorized lift cars were now built against the cliff side, running on a schedule much like the public transit system, except waiting intervals between these cars were shorter than those between the public trains.

We sat in the waiting area at the cliff's base for all of two minutes, until the next car descended. It released its load if departing passengers, and the two of us took their place inside.

The car smoothly ascended the cliff once more, opening its doors to the hilltop. The walkway outside was clean and maintained, but beyond the waiting area, the snow was obvious. Even during this time of year, permafrost remained on some level.

"This way." I led the Narshean up a snowy mountain trail. Dark gray rock formations jutted out from the snowy white blanket here and there. Despite the permafrost, the temperature was balanced, cool enough to maintain the snow but warm enough for comfort.

Behind us, Narshe was really scaled down to size. The public transit system looked like a model train set, with the surrounding town filling the role of a scene diorama. The districts further south were even more scaled down. Details were minimal, save for tall trees, electrical pylons, windmills, and the taller buildings. Far to the south was the Lete River, and somewhere to the southeast was Leonard's residence.

"Well here we are." Leonard gazed about, noting the rocks buried under half melted snow. "This is where you promised to bring me, the place of the story. So I ask, what makes this snowfield special to you?"

This was it. Everything I'd revealed to Leonard about esper compassion, the human-esper romance and the unidentified half-esper woman was all in preparation for this climax, the reveal of that half-esper as me. It was here in the snowfield of the northern hilltops where I first learned a crucial fact of my being, that I was much different than a human, and not totally on par with an esper.

My first transformation took place here.

"Leonard, this was the location of a critical battle against the Imperials, the second Imperial invasion of Narshe, to be exact."

He leaned back against one of the rock protrusions. "I heard stories to that effect, but I wasn't around to see it. Regardless, I know how it turned out. Seven Returners and maybe a handful of militia guards managed to slay and force back an entire platoon."

"Yes, that's right. The Imperials wanted the esper Tritoch, uncovered from the city's mining cave. It was moved to this hill, to be less vulnerable. The invaders couldn't just march into the city, but instead were forced into the long route, where they'd be in a less advantageous position. Magitek walkers didn't do so great on these icy slops. In the end, we sent Palazzo retreating, after taking out his entire attack force." So far, everything went well, but this was the easy part.

"So my heroine kicked ass," beamed Leonard with a smile "and celebrated after a job well done."

"Actually, no. You see, we fended off the Imperials to guard the esper. After Palazzo bailed, we inspected Tritoch, placed upon a nearby precipice." I pointed toward the cliff in question. Leonard followed me across a single bridge to arrive at the very spot where I morphed over four years ago, and he was moments from learning that very fact.

"And how was this Tritoch?" he asked, still oblivious to the tale of the very ground beneath his feet.

My heart rate doubled. My toes were curled up inside my boot. Nonetheless, I concealed this angst. I had to be crystal clear for this. "The esper was unharmed, but it did something…interacted with me in unexpected ways. It…made me…transform."

Eye wide and mouth gaping, Leonard could do little but ask a very helpful question. "You mean…it made you change into an esper?"

No holding back. "Not quite. None of us realized it until sometime later, but this event was the first in a sequence that led to an amazing, unprecedented truth. Tritoch brought out something that lay dormant within me…until that instant. It awakened…" Why stop? I'd come this far, after envisioning it for all these months. "It awoke my esper half."

"Esss…per halffffffff?"

In this moment, the world was only the two of us. "Yes Leonard. That half-esper I referenced, the affiliate of the Returners who I'd promised you'd meet one day. She's me."

"Halffff esssperrrrrr…y-y-you…the half…esp…it'sssss youuuuuuu…" Punch-drunk laughter echoed into the quarry behind the cliff.

_change in s & n_

Our Maradan contacts finally uncovered some juicy information. While some of it was unconfirmed, there was enough to justify taking action.

I sat in the cargo bay of a small air vessel, watching the scenery fly by out the window. According to our sources, small bands of the Duke's forces made trips to and from Asniele, a mountain town considerably north of Lagione's remnants. Unlike the former fishing town, Asniele was a highly-functional center of inhabitation. Duke Sindreo enslaved the place, if our hunch was correct.

For the two years that Maranda spent under the Imperial yolk, Sindreo Geminsa kept a low profile, staying out of the public eye while the Imperials browbeat Empress Gallisirva. Then along came the great collapse and the demise of the Empire. Maranda, or what remained of it, was at the mercy of Palazzo and his cult. The was almost no army left to defend the ailing nation, thanks to the inept counterstrike led by Emperor Turianse (or Turi-anus, as Qaurjaeda nicknamed him, as Maranda's Emperor made a real ass of himself by charging headlong into Imperial firepower).

Gallisirva's popularity remained, despite her cowardice and overly-merciful nature. Around this time, Duke Sindreo's opinion against her gained credibility. This in turn boosted Sindreo's ego and narcissism to greater levels. He was finally getting the power and entitlement he desired throughout his life. And he wouldn't stop there.

Eventually, Palazzo was killed and the damage from the great collapse was slowly undone. Gallisirva was just as popular with the Marandan people, but the Duke's underground charisma was about to engulf her with a vengeance. When societal stability was regained, the Empress vowed to bring in a new era of law, even more strict to prevent subsequent conquests and bloodshed. The Marandan public cheered her on without question.

Her promise was all for naught. Duke Sindreo had amassed his own cult following, believers who saw him as the future. This loyalty fed his lust for domination, which in turn fueled the zealotry of his disciples. Not a month after Palazzo's demise, the Duke and his minions stormed the palace once more, with Sindreo hell bent on finishing what he'd started over three years back.

He made an example of the Empress who'd oppressed him all those years. The woman who robbed him of his freewill but would never hurt a soul was now experiencing hurt on an exponential scale. Many stories told of this publicized turning point, and they all agreed on the details. The Empress was tortured, her arms and legs broken at each joint with a war mace. Then she was tied to a wooden post and gang raped by the Duke and his leading minions. Her final experience was being untied and thrown into a manure wagon face first, enduring death by suffocation.

Gallisirva Montrino, the 'strict by kind' and 'benevolent' leader, who refused execution on the grounds of its being 'unclean' and 'cruel', the Empress who pushed law after law to banish vice and attain incorruptible purity, had just been defiled and slain by the exact behavior she vowed to eradicate, thanks to the very measure she took in attempting such. Her strictness made her a target, and her kindness left her vulnerable and defenseless.

From our end, there were mixed feelings. At first, we Nyufalng were sympathetic in some way to the repressed Duke, being that strict laws imposed under the pretext of 'goodness' were enemies to us both. Breaking the Empress's limbs was inevitable. Throwing her into the fecal mass to die was the appropriate karmic fate to someone as bossy yet naïve as Gallisirva.

But Sindreo's act of rape was the deal breaker by itself. Whether he was mentally fucked up from birth or a man whose mind went to shit after being oppressed by one prudish law too many was meaningless after that. He was nothing now but a mentally deficient maniac in need of extermination. It wasn't enough to kill the Empress and gain his freedom. He thirsted for glory, power, and conquest, claiming entitlement to the world and beyond. He was out to enslave all who didn't enshrine him, and ravage the Divine for his own vanity. The Divine was his intended prey, and so he was ours.

The airship was descending. We were nearing our landing point, in the woodland southeast of Asniele. This wasn't a combat op. The Duke's forces were small in the town, so a large party on our behalf was unnecessary. Our plan was to get info from locals about the Duke's recent activity, after setting an example. The villagers needed a clear demonstration that Sindreo's followers were _not_ superhuman, even if he claimed such on a daily basis.

I regarded my two travel companions. Dyal'xern leaned against a cargo crate, adjusting his fingerless gloves. Sdalsyra sat on a bench grafted to the wall, bouncing a goop strand like a yoyo. Both Pung Thoshidai had charged their essences prior to our departure. "You seem a little…preoccupied." I noted Dyal'xern's fidgeting.

"I used to be a slave Ajalni. If we're correct, the people of Asniele are also slaves." He stopped playing with his mitt. "If they are, I can see my old self in them, and it will bring back memories. Just one more reminder of why we do this."

Sdalsyra swung her 'yoyo' vertically in front of herself. "The Duke relies on the spectacular, and so the spectacular must be used to negate his image and undo the fear he instills."

The airship touched down minutes later, landing in a clear field amid the woods southeast of the town. The door opened, and the three of us exited the vessel into forested surroundings. After walking for a mile and a half, we approached the edge of town. I wore no disguise, as my only visual oddity was my tongue. Bearing highly obvious Pirusymn stones, Sdalsyra and Dyal'xern had to cover them up. She wore a ripped and torn dress to hide much of her discolored skin, with a head scarf around her face. He covered himself with a large overcoat and top hat.

Asniele was a metallurgy town. It made sense for the Duke to enslave its populous. Most of the townspeople were architects, steel-workers, blacksmiths, or some other profession that revolved around metalwork. These skills would prove invaluable for the Duke's operations. It was desolate, but unlike Lagione, Asniele was maintained. Trees were trimmed and garbage did not litter the sidewalks.

I scanned the houses lining the street, which dead-ended at some railroad tracks. "This is a residential area. I doubt any slave labor would be done here. If there's an industrial zone in town, the tracks should lead right past it." We followed the railway.

About ten minutes later, the scenery changed. Tall incinerator chimneys stood up above the sound wall, which itself gave way to more open space around the tracks. Stone buildings with narrow windows dotted this area. Small warehouses and factories looked like this, essentials to any industrial district.

A new sound filled the air, distant but audible. It was the rhythmic stomping of walking armor feet. Up ahead, just beyond a curve in the track, a walking machine stomped out from a cluster of concrete buildings, its robotic arms carrying a huge load of something, probably steel beams bundled together. The pilot turned the armor so its backside faced us, and continued lumbering along. A group of foot soldiers appeared right behind it. They carried boxes and pushed hand carts stacked high with some other local product. The last soldier looked back and yelled something into mass of buildings. Then both troops and armor marched out of sight. Slime dripped from Sdalsyra's hand. She was ready to kill the troops if they spotted us.

"When do we say hello?" asked Dyal'xern, the air blurring around his fist.

"Let's see where those troops came from. They were obviously gathering freight." Sdalsyra pointed up ahead. "There's bound to be more of them."

She was right. After a chain link fence with an open gate, we found hundreds of villagers in a loading yard surrounded by warehouses. Most were slumped down on boxes or freight stacks. Others were lying on the stone ground fanning themselves. They all carried this aura of fatigue, as overworked slaves would. This village was under Sindreo's iron fist, just like we thought.

In the center of the yard was a huge stack of sheet metal and steel girders. Two armed soldiers in uniform were aligning the products. From the looks of things, army staff was minimal. Our contacts did mention small parties of Sindreo's troops. "I'd say it's the perfect time to mind our manners and introduce ourselves." Dyal'xern pointed at himself. "I'll go first."

With the slaves exhausted and the soldiers minding the cargo, sneaking in was easy. No one questioned us, for we blended in perfectly. One soldier walked off to an alleyway beyond the cargo stack. Sdalsyra followed him halfway. The other man entered a warehouse.

Dyal'xern stepped up to the cargo pile, grabbing one of the sheet metal slabs. He tossed it against the wall of the storage house. It wobbled and unleashed various banging sound before landing flat. Some of the townsfolk took notice, their faces stretching into looks of shock and confusion. The Air-smasher threw another sheet into a pile of wooden crates.

"Hey dumbass!" The soldier in the warehouse came out, drawn over by the banging metal sheets. "What are you doing, punk?" he yelled, pulling a mace from his belt and storming over to the tall Pung Thoshidei. "You know who you're fucking with?"

When he was right behind Dyal'xern, the Air-smasher spun and dropped to a crouch, chopping out with his right hand. A blur followed his arm movement, and the soldier topped backwards, his legs severed just below the knee. "Do you?" retorted Dyal'xern, clenching his fists. The Marandan goon was stunned motionless while the Air-smasher punched with both fists, his hands coming together as another blur shot forth. The goon's face was crushed into itself, and his body went limp.

"What the hell?" It was the second goon, investigating his comrade's angry shouts. He reached for his lance but never drew it, for a glob of slime pooled around his feet. A stringy glob twisted itself around his arms, pinning them together. Bound and stick to the concrete, he could do little when Sdalsyra swung at his neck with a thinner string of slime. The whip cut his neck open, and he crumpled over, the Corrodess pulling the other two blobs back into her hands while he bled to death.

By now, the locals were standing and gathering around us, observing the two dead thugs of Sindreo Geminsa. It was like they'd never even considered how the Duke's followers could bleed and die. The wakeup call had commenced, thanks to us.

The locals didn't see it as empowering just yet. "What's the matter with you?" gasped a man in overalls. "It's mad enough that you disorganized the neatly bundled metal sheets, but when the others come back and find these two dead..."

"The more who come back, the more who'll die." Dyal'xern snickered proudly.

While he showed off for the townsfolk, I got to business. "When will they come back, and how many will return?"

Some villagers gazed down at the dead troops, others averted their eyes, still unsure of what just transpired. One man answered clearly. "Most of the patrol group just left with the newest shipment. They'll be back tomorrow, with ten, maybe twelve at most."

"That's a _very_ small number," Sdalsyra commented, stepping on the corpse of the man she'd killed. "They're not invincible, as you've just seen. Why not try evening the score like so."

"No way!" shouted one girl as most other people reeled back. "Inadequate work performance gets punished enough. What would defiance bring us?" She pointed to the alleyway behind Sdalsyra. The entire crowd of locals turned away, unleashing woeful moans. Something was back there, and it scared them greatly…but what was it?

None of them would explain, so we three looked for ourselves. The alley led into an empty storage yard. In the center was a plywood board, a huge dark puddle spilling over the edge. Rope was tied around the board in two places, and a pile of objects was stacked atop. It looked like garbage, but as we got closer, some of the objects became obvious. I could see a pair of pants, some deformed shoes, and a work shirt, all of them soiled to the point where their original color was lost. A longer scan revealed some paper like material wrapped around solid chunks of stone. Near the shirt's collar was a large pulpy object, matted down and sticking to itself.

If all these details weren't enough, the smell told all. The stench of blood is unique. The paper and rocks were the torn remains of flesh and bone, and the pulpy object was hair on the scalp. This had once been a person. From the position of the ropes, he or she had been tied against the board by their limbs.

Despite their own fears, many of the townspeople followed us, sparing a single glance at the bloody human remains before averted their eyes once more. Weeps of despair escaped many onlookers.

"Okay," I called out. "Something shitty happened here. What." The Duke's malice was savage and prolific, but I still wanted the locals' own firsthand account.

A teenage boy in worn jeans and a sleeveless coat stepped forward, more contained than his peers. "Earlier today, we didn't work up to expectations, somehow." His voice trailed off, but he wouldn't turn away like so many villagers did on impulse.

"Go on," prodded Sdalsyra, her attention on the young man.

"The troops didn't like our work habits. They claimed we were too slow and produced poor quality materials, so they gathered us in here." He pointed at the plywood board. "That man was bound to the wooden slab, on his back. The troops wanted to send us a message, and called in a magitek walker." A woman shrieked and stormed over to the boy, demanding that he speak no more, but he raised his hand. She paused, Dyal'xern held her back, and the youth elaborated his tale.

"He screamed helplessly as the armor stormed in here, begging, pleading, groveling for help from some Goddess that either left him or ceased to exist. He was on the verge of tears when the overseer commanded the armor to move." The teen spared no detail in recalling how the magitek armor stepped down on the captive's feet and shins first. "That cry of agony drowned out the mechanical whirs and chugs. Then it took another step, this time crushing his upper legs. As captive audience, we could do nothing for him, only watch the torment as the walker stepped upon his midsection next. His eyes rolled backwards, his skin went pale, and he coughed up blood. More sprayed about as his ribcage was smashed under the robotic foot. When his screams of anguish were silenced, snapping bones and the pilot's laughter took their place, and the leg came down upon the man's arms and head. When the unit was done, the overseer claimed we'd be next if we didn't behave." The youth finished, blinked, and rushed back into the crowd.

Sdalsyra gestured at the villager's crush corpse. "This is an omen, a sign of what will happen if you don't resist. There is much you can do. Just understand the Duke's minions can be killed, and you're off to a great start."

"K-kill them?" questioned the same woman who tried silencing the boy. Many others voiced similar thoughts.

"It gets the job done." Dyal'xern raised his eyebrows, though he also sensed the public hesitation. "Why the long faces? You got a better plan to rid this world of Sindreo and his vermin?"

"Killing is evil," objected another woman, showing more energy than most other villagers combined, save for the resolute teenager. "Murder is indecent, uncivilized, the tool of the barbarians."

Now it was clear why our demonstration hadn't garnered the expected applause. I grit my teeth and clenched my fists at these peoples' lack of drive. "Maybe so, but you're backed into a corner. The Duke's minions will expect even more from you, and if you can't deliver, that magitek foot will descend upon its next victim. It's your move, and time's not on your side."

This did nothing. Another man repeated the woman's excuse, adding his own twist. "I will not sacrifice morality. Killing the Duke's thugs, vile as they are, would make us no different than them. We're better than that." Many in the crowd echoed him.

I exchanged a glance with Dyal'xern and Sdalsyra. This reasoning was the most clichéd and feeble excuse we'd heard yet, and the most common excuse to justify inaction.

"Better than them?" Sdalsyra laughed at the irony, though it was sarcastic. Her voice was plenty sharp. "Don't try so hard to stay 'above' their level that you plummet far below. What makes you so 'better' than them? Your refusal to shed their blood? That's the very weakness they've been exploiting since the Duke established his dominion."

Dyal'xern paced before the crowd's front row. "If the barbarians, as you call them, can take over your city, enslave you all, and torture you to death as they see fit, what's that say for you and your moral purity. It sucks fucking shit, and is the enemy within."

The locals kept shrugging and shaking their heads. What would it take? They'd already seen one of their own slowly crushed to death, with threats of more such killings to follow. How lost were these people to fear and apathy? It was time for a low blow on my behalf. "Wake the fuck up people. You call them barbarians, making no attempts to justify or legitimize their actions, yet you sit passively and do nothing. Maybe the next person under that magitek foot will be your own child. Will even _that_ fail to motivate you?"

My touching a soft spot caused a reaction. "Don't say that!" screamed a random woman. "Don't even think that!"

"I don't have to. The Duke will perform it, maybe sooner than later," I reasoned. "You refuse to embrace anything you believe 'unethical', but in striving for innocence, the pure evil thrives around you. Your aspirations of morality have condemned this entire town to a slow, torturous death."

"Violence begets violence," protested a short brunette woman. She stood my height but was probably more than double my age.

Sdalsyra reached for the shorter woman, grabbed her arm, and yanked her from the crowd. The Corrodess forced the villager to gaze upon the dead man's pulverized remains. "Is that so? Say that to him. How'd that man live, and how'd he die?"

"And bearing that in mind, apply that saying to those who killed him," Dyal'xern stood over the grappled woman before addressing the other locals. "The violence inflicted upon you begets none in return, so that saying proves moot here."

The villagers did nothing but mope and argue yet again. It was pointless. They were lost to apathy and fear of getting blood on their hands, even if a quality survival depended on it. I huddled with my two comrades and explained how futile our demo had been. They agreed wholeheartedly. It was time to leave.

"We need help," pleaded a man as we turned away. "The Duke is a tyrant who torments the weak like us." He carried a melon and raised it to his mouth.

"Fuck you," Dyal'xern spat right in the local's face. "You're not worth helping, and you're only weak because you choose it." Dyal'xern was hardly the brooding temperamental kind, but as a former slave who initially thought he could empathize with these people, he was taken aback by their excess morality. In his time as a slave, he always dreamt of creating a change by whatever means necessary, and that ambition led to his becoming the Nyufalng's second Pung Thoshidei. He stared down the villager and snatched the melon from the guy's hand. "This is good food. It should not be wasted on the likes of you." He bit into the fruit. "You don't deserve this."

"Strong morals don't equal a strong spirit. In your case, they're the cause of your weakness," declared Sdalsyra with less venom than I thought she'd emit. After all, she was the brooding, sentimental type, despite having a party girl attitude in the right circumstances. She pointed at the crushed corpse one last time. "That man has died in vein because of you all. Don't complain when you're the next beneath a magitek walker's foot."

"I suggest you burn the bodies of those two dead soldiers, for your sake," I advised with folded arms. "Should their pals find the corpses, they'll come down harder than ever upon you. This should prove that so-called barbarians care more about each other than overly-civilized, extra decent cowards like you." Once again, I was hurting feelings and breaking hearts, but since these villagers didn't even give a shit about their own future, neither did I. We left those lost to fear and apathy behind, retracing our path along the train tracks. Even while groveling for a quick death, they'd never realize how their morals only jeopardized them while only protecting their oppressors.

"Wait up!" No sooner had we gone fifty paces did a voice call out. "Hold up for a second."

It was the teenager in the sleeveless coat, the one who explained how the man was trampled under the armor unit, and the only person who didn't withdraw in shock from our concepts. He bent over, hands on his knees, catching his breath. "I'll do something. Even if no one else in town cares to act, I do."

Maybe our visit wouldn't be so unproductive after all. "Bravo," I praised. "At least one person in this town is worthy of their given life. We'd like information on the Duke's recent activities."

"I'll provide whatever I can dig up," he agreed. "I won't suffer my father's fate, not without inflicting it on the Duke's people. If this village is already on death row, I'm taking them with me."

Dyal'xern chomped on his melon. "Your father was killed."

The youth nodded. "Yes. Getting stepped on by a magitek walker's leg proves fatal. You've clearly seen the results."

_change in s & n_

Leonard recovered from the laughing gas much quicker than I expected. He was no longer thrashing about either. The man sat up and cleared this throat.

"Welcome back." I knelt down beside him, and the snow angel he'd inadvertently created.

"Yeah." He inhaled and exhaled, breathing normally. His eyes, a tad bloodshot, locked with mine. "So that half-esper was you all along?"

"That's right." I gave him the lowdown on my life story, very simple for the first eighteen years. "I was kidnapped when the Imperials invaded the esper world, when I wasn't but half a year. They learned of my innate magic powers, and I was enslaved with a mind control crown. I was a bio-weapon for the first Imperial invasion of Narshe, dispatched with two Gestahlian Privates to attain the uncovered Tritoch esper. According to a witness, the esper killed the Privates with explosive spells, but spared me, deactivating the slave crown instead. I had no memories of anything once it was removed. Not long after that, I met Arvis, Locke, and the whole Returner crew."

"Shit-fucking shit. So that's where your enslavement and amnesia played a role." Leonard massaged his temples. "So, what happened after you...transformed here?"

"I flew off to a tower in Zozo, by pure instinct in a coma-like state. A lightning esper named Ramuh sensed my turmoil and summoned me to him. The others followed, and Ramuh explained he'd fled from the Empire's laboratory. He asked that my friends infiltrate the Imperial capital to free the espers who remained inside. They did just that, brought a whole trove of magic stones back, and I learned of my origins for the first time. One of those espers taken from the lab was my father, Maduin."

"So you're not completely human?" Leonard brushed snow off his clothes.

"The esper powers faded with the demise of magic, but my bloodline still carries traces of my paternal heritage. Sabin pointed out that my learning the blitz so quickly might stem from having supernatural lineage, not that his teaching style plays no part."

Leonard's mind was clear now. He made a connection I'd referenced previously. "So that person who took residence in Mobliz post-Palazzo was you."

"Actually, I'd taken residence before his death. After we were separated in the great collapse, I drifted about for some time, seeking inhabitation, and a place to recuperate from the shock. I eventually found Mobliz, and got so preoccupied with caring for the orphans, I lost my fighting edge. I was so intent on discovering love, and the experience of being loved, that I poured all my energy into discovering what I'd been denied. Being an orphan myself, I empathized greatly with the children's ordeal."

He was definitely getting the picture. "You did for them what no one did for you, in hopes they'd fill some void in your life?"

"Yes, obsessively so. When my friends first came upon the village, I was hardly of use to them. But later, I found my strength and purpose. My feelings for the children were indeed a form of love. Their future was my new motivation for battling Kefka."

"And after that, you left Mobliz thanks to the adoption program of Project Hope, to which I donated some alms." Leonard's realization came full circle. "So, you moved here to Narshe in part because of my contributions to that charity. Thanks to me, you were sitting around when the poison almost caused my death on that hillside forest."

"You understand too." I smiled girlishly, not caring if I was acting half my age. "You allowed me to save you three years after the fact. Talk about karma." Leonard traced patterns in the snow around his angel imprint. "You're not…upset, are you, for me not telling you earlier?" Now came the final question. I didn't expect negative results, but was interested nonetheless.

Leonard leaned back into the snow angel. "Why should I be? If that were so, I'd be a fucking hypocrite. You didn't ask to be a half-esper girl any more than I chose to be a son of Julus Gurosawn. You felt hesitant, as do I."

But I was hesitant no more, and that would open him up for that final stretch. "Leonard, I paid a visit to Arvis not long ago."

"Yeah. Celes came by the dojo and told me about your chat, and how 'betrayer's offspring' was referenced."

"If I can share my hybrid ancestry, you can share what 'betrayer's offspring' really means." I leaned over to see into his eyes. "It's that last burden to relieve from your shoulders, and you already know whatever your family did was not your fault, even if the public's too shortsighted to realize that."

"I'll share the tale." He sat up straight. "But not today. We've accomplished enough…almost."

He leaned close, his hand taking my own. Before I knew it, our lips interlocked.

_change in s & n_

"You asked for my presence, King Edgar?" A foreman from the Reservoir Guild stood before my throne.

"That I did." Having finished reading of some figures on the next military innovation, I was heading for dinner when the man stopped by. "I've a request to make on behalf of the farming community."

He knew the purpose immediately. "It's related to the plumbing construction, I presume."

"I spoke with them two days ago, in person. This weather is getting to their crops, which cannot be patient like them. Their own patience is dwindling. So I ask, how much longer until the new lines reach their district?" Having other businesses give up their shares of non-essential water helped put the farmers at ease, but it wouldn't hold up forever. I'd enforced that policy knowing full well it'd merely serve to buy time while the plumbing progress moved along.

The foreman bit his lip. "Your Highness, rest assured we're moving along as fast as possible. We're on your back pay plan, building segments first and collecting money afterward."

"Is there any way to speed up the process?" My inevitable question was asked.

"My Liege, working in this heat is ill-advised," explained the Guild foreman. "As such, we must work in the evening hours, when the heat is minimal. Additionally…" He paused for a moment, his eyes wandering about. Something troubled him. "Additionally, the back pay plan is a tad un-motivating."

"What? How so?" I questioned surprise. It was a successful plan at first. Charise explained my charisma was the reason for its approval. My charisma wasn't failing me…was it?

The foreman pulled a notebook from his jacket, thumbing through the pages. "We are seeing a pattern. Every time a section of town is re-piped, there is money unaccounted for. That un-collected sum is increasing with each completed stretch. The I-owe-you is increasing slowly. That's why the Guild workers are lacking in ambition."

I stood from my throne. "I had no idea," I said. Yet something in my gut warned me this might happen. I stepped down and approached the foreman. "You have hard data and financial records to prove this?"

"Not on me. I believe Queen Charise is compiling those." He folded the notebook and pocketed it.

I placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'll talk with her when the chance comes up. Thank you for providing this information."

"Yes Sire. If you need nothing else of me, I must be off."

I dismissed the foreman and thought hard. Why was the back pay amount increasing each time? Why was it not that surprising?

I couldn't obsess on it right now. I had military matters to address later this evening. The search for the monsters would continue. This time, a search party would comb the wooded reaches of the Hyaxulan Mountains to the north. Dense forests lined the range, and it was possible the new species dwelled within. They weren't native to the mining caves in Narshe. We'd ascertained such after the previous, failed search.

_change in s & n_

Now that Terra had leveled with me, I had no reason to postpone leveling with her. There'd come a time, and a place. And I was planning something different for the occasion. I could say with certainty this half-esper girl was my love interest, and some of her friends bore witness to Arvis's angry tirade.

But today I had something else on my mind. After finishing breakfast, I boarded the westbound train. Had anything developed in the Mog vs. Umaro clash? I'd find out shortly, I hoped. Mog was working overtime with all the other moogles. He might not be around to chat, but I'd never know until I looked for myself.

The train pulled into the Verdsanath station, its final stop in Narshe. I got out and walked the usual route to the hillside caves. The mining cavern was lit as usual, and the sounds of labor were audible throughout. The clanking of hammers against nails, the creaking of wheels on supply carts, and hums of drilling and pumping munitions all suggested major productivity.

In a wide corridor, I found two of the white creatures. One gathered a bucket load of something, flapped his or her wings, and flew off down the hall. The other one took a seat and chomped on a cantaloupe. Even moogles got snack breaks.

I generously let the moogle finish his or her fruit piece before approaching. "Mog?" I asked, knowing this wasn't the Returners' moogle membership. The moogle stood attentively. He or she didn't verbally answer, but I was understood, given the creature's gestures. The mining moogle pointed down the hallway, gestured at the floor, and went for the nearest corner. Even if moogles didn't actually speak human language, they could understand it, especially when names of their own were mentioned.

Moments later, a different moogle trotted into the light. "Kupo Leonard. I'm quite busy, so make this quick."

"Good morning Mog. I won't keep you long. I'm just curious about Umaro. How is he?" I was bracing myself for a hostile reply, as Mog's talk of the yeti was anything but friendly last time.

But the moogle's answer was hardly spiteful or degrading. "Funny you ask. I think I'm finally getting somewhere."

"Oh?"

Mog's hand went to his hip. "He's not whining anymore. He might understand why I caged him."

_That's great, because I still don't,_ I thought silently. "You mean, he's admitting his own negligence?"

"Not quite." Mog looked down thoughtfully. "But I get the feeling he will in short order. That's the first step to getting back his privileges."

I had more to ask, but so little time. Knowing there'd been a major change in Umaro's status, I went on to another topic. "So you're not blaming Umaro for the recent killing in these mines."

"Not at all. In fact, Umaro's less uptight than we are about that, even though the body was found rather close to his cage, in the adjacent hallway."

"Really," I stated in surprise. "Do you think he saw anything?"

"We already asked him, and he claims he saw nothing strange." Mog looked about. "Whatever killed that man was not native to this mine. Edgar's army did a search and found nothing new. The creature snuck in from elsewhere." A chattering came from behind the talking moogle. Mog turned and responded in kind. "Kupkup. Okay Leonard. My social moment has ended. It's back to work I go. Thanks for dropping by. I'll keep you posted, whenever I see you next." 

"Thanks Mog." I watched him trot back to his designated work area.

Maybe the clash between him and the yeti would blow over. Mog said Umaro's behavior had changed drastically, and the moogle was less condescending because of that. And he wasn't accusing Umaro of killing the night watch guard. It was possible things could work out all for the better.

_Is it really that simple Leonard,_ challenged my inner voice. _Do you really believe that, or are you seeing what you hope for and not what truly is?_

That voice between my ears was quite the pessimist. What reason did I have to heed its presumption? I'd take Mog's words with more authenticity than my own internal bitching party.

But just because my inner voice spoke with skepticism didn't mean it was idiotic. That voice could be quite logical when my other sides were not. Yet here was Mog, praising Umaro after cutting him down so many times.

What could possibly go wrong next? Why was the voice in my head saying 'lots'?


	30. Edge of Distortion

**Chapter 30: Edge of Distortion**

"Talk about being in the right place at the right time." Dyal'xern chomped on a biscuit from rations stored in the airship.

The local teenager took a drink from his canteen. "Yeah, she's one of the Duke's best. He won't like it when she turns up dead."

Though most of Asniele was too lost in their delusional moral purity to take practical action, the teen who watched his father get crushed by the Magitek walker had far more ambition, and his faith in moral righteousness died with his father. He was more than willing to poke around and uncover happenings with the Duke's followers, and had no problem being an accessory to the deaths of any said minions. He knew that, in his dire circumstance, blood wouldn't stain his hands. Blood would _clean_ his hands.

As we'd learned yesterday from the locals, a group of Sindreo's goons would drop by to collect the freight quota. But the teenager's fruitful discovery was that one of the Duke's favored minions was part of the coming inspection group. Gail Ardevina was both a Major in the Duke's army and a leading Slave Mistress. Such a person was in charge of gathering and breaking down slaves.

As extra icing upon the cake, she'd given this teen a nasty branding over a year back, a means of proving he was the Duke's 'property'. He still had the mark burned into his right shoulder, five stars forming a V shape, just like on the Duke's dark yellow flag. The youth had a score to settle with Gail, and he wanted piece of her before she died. I promised him one…literally.

"It's pathetic," sneered the youth. "Everyone here longs for the 'good old days', the time of Gallisirva's reign."

"If it weren't a sign of ignorance, it would be funny," I mused. "These people long for the very person who let this misfortune befall them."

Sdalsyra peeled an orange. "Gallisirva's imposing of strict rules and regulations is likely what made the Duke snap, and her fear of embracing vice kept her from executing him after his botched attempt at killing her. She spared his life to, as she believed, set an example of selfless benevolence. But we all know how things ended."

"The Duke is the mess that Gallisirva made but failed to clean up," Dyal'xern concluded. "She paid the price of absolute idealism, and now you're suffering because of her."

"But you seek to clean up her mess." The teenager took another drink. "That will make you the heroes once you succeed."

I started chuckling, much to the youth bewilderment. An explanation was in order. "Maybe so, but we don't aspire to heroism. Our goal is simply doing what's pragmatic, intelligent, and necessary. Not that we don't get any pleasure from making the change, but we don't seek enshrinement as heroes. After all, heroes are inadequate. We're fighting for something that needs much more than heroes could offer." For the Divine, heroes weren't enough.

"Nobody questions heroism, idealism, purity, or the like," explained Sdalsyra between bites of orange. "Virtue, absolute goodness, selflessness, and the like all become excessive for that very reason."

"The point is to be aware," Dyal'xern advised upon finishing the biscuit. "Beware the heroes, beware the rules, beware the lack of vice and the abundance of purity. They all permit and facilitate people like the Empire, Palazzo, and the Duke. Pure evil thrives on the cleanliness of pure good. Goodness lacks the cunning edge to really understand evil."

"The best way to control vice is to feed it from time to time, not bury and reject it,' I pointed out.

"I can almost grasp that concept." The youth took a last sip of water. "But isn't vice what drives the Duke to oppress and exploit people like us?"

The wise young man popped another inevitable question, and I fittingly rewarded him with a true answer. "I said feed it from time to time, not to obsess and let it consume you until you've no other facets to yourself. Those who resist vice do so out of fear, the fear of corruption and temptation. They reject is so much that resisting such 'temptation' becomes a temptation all itself, the temptation to resist."

"And to answer another question, here's what makes us different from our enemies." Sdalsyra finished her orange. "We kill for our freedom, well-being, and future. The Duke and his minions kill for his ego and overblown glory. Aside from spilling blood, we've nothing in common with them. Our differing goals are enough to separate us."

"Of course. That's obvious. Such a pity the average person fails to see that logic. But they're too scared of spilling blood to grasp the truth of which you speak." The teenager hooked his canteen to his belt and glanced at his watch. "Gail and her inspection party should arrive any minute." He climbed a tree next to the loading dock's stone wall.

As Dyal'xern and Sdalsyra killed two of the Duke's followers the previous day, there were two stashes of gear for use by any with brains and motivation. The youth carried a telescope found on a deceased grunt.

Atop the wall, he raised the scope and peered west. "They're coming. The distant train is flying the Duke's banner."

We took positions and waited. As the youth wasn't combat experienced, he stayed behind near the stone wall. I huddle within a stack of packing crates, while Dyal'xern and Sdalsyra stood just beyond the train stop's platform. The inspection party would see them first.

The train pulled up, slowed, and halted. The doors swooshed open, and two men stepped out, followed by two more. The locals said yesterday that a squad of no more than twelve troops would stop in. This party was less than half that number. The last person off the railcar was a dark-haired woman clad in a black leotard with a braid coming down to her ass. Gail Ardevina was accompanied by four henchmen. I aimed my bow-gun and waited for the precise time.

Some paces later, the Major/Slave Mistress observed the two disguised Pung Thoshidai, though she didn't know them as such. "Slaves. Why are not working like the rest of the townspeople?" scolded Gail in a voice so harsh it was almost laughable. Unlike the slaves lost to decency, we Nyufalng could see through these intimidation tactics.

"Slaves?" Dyal'xern adjusted his hat brim. "We're not slaves. We're not even from this town. But thank you for showing up. As troops of Duke Sindreo, you must have some treasure worth looting." Thievery was not his intention, just a ruse.

Gail's face twisted into a more extreme glower. She looked like she had a mono brow. "You dare steal from the godlike, cosmic Duke?" Her goons raised their weapons. She grabbed two flails from her belt, swinging the spiked weights. "You'll submit to slavery, if you're smart."

Sindreo Geminsa did not have the technological artillery of the late House Virnone, but his army compensated with something less conventional and just as deadly. The Duke's infantry and cavalry possessed superhuman martial skills. We would not underestimate their talents, even with a group this small.

The time was now. I raised my crossbow and unloaded a bolt at the nearest grunt, a man with a shield and spear. My arrow came struck true, piercing the right side of his neck, unseen until it skewered its mark from a blind spot. The spear fell to the concrete, the man crumpled to his knees, and toppled over with a final chocking sound.

This distracted his four companions. As they glanced at his fallen corpse for a split second, the Corrodess and Air-smasher rushed forward, exploiting the momentary diversion. A man with two battle hatchets looked back at Dyal'xern, swinging at the last possible instant. With his left hand, the Air-smasher blocked the swipes using a blurry air cushion. With his right, he created an air spike which he thrust forward into the man's neck, causing decapitation.

Gail found her hands tied with a slimy thread, one of Sdalsyra's non-acidic varieties. As the Slave Mistress tried freeing herself, Dyal'xern charged past and decked her in the face. She went down, and Sdalsyra created another slime string, swinging it at Gail's legs.

Dyal'xern faced off against the third henchman, a troop with a giant saber. Glowing flecks of light floated towards the blade, but Dyal'xern didn't wait around to see this technique in full. With the saber high, he dropped low and chopped outwards with both hands. The swordsman fell back, away from his severed feet. As the Air-smasher impaled the hobbled man's chest with another air spike, the last goon faced him, short sword and exotic throwing knife ready for bear.

"Go back! Tell the Duke!" ordered Gail while struggling futilely against the globs lassoed around her wrists and ankles. She writhed about on the cement, barely able to face her remaining muscleman. "That's an order!"

The last man turned and ran back into the train. The smoke stack unleashed a black cloud as the train wheels began their circular motion. The railcar pushed further east into the city, en route to the nearest turnaround point, where it could rotate itself around and head back west. We did not give chase. Let the goon flee and tell the Duke. That was our plan.

I stepped out from the crate pile. Sdalsyra had now covered Gail's hands and feet with some adhesive blobs. The Slave Mistress was stuck to the pavement against her chest, immobile as bugs caught in flypaper. Her ball and chain weapons weren't more than two feet away, but that trivial distance meant nothing with Gail's hands and feet glued as they were.

Out trio looked down at the trapped Slave Mistress. She wasn't barking orders this time. She knew we weren't a bunch of docile, cowed slaves, and she was in no position to demand anything. "You'll pay for that," she sneered. "You've really screwed up. Whoever you are, you're no match for Duke Sindero Geminsa. You'll regret this."

The local teenager emerged, walking slowly to his bound tormenter from a year past. "Hello Gail. Do you remember me?" His face was explosive with ire, but his tone was calm and emotionless. "Probably not. I've been forgotten among the countless other slaves you've branded with the five-star mark."

The grounded woman looked up in rage. "Slave. You know what will happen. This will not go unpunished!"

"That which happens every other day, compliance or not." The youth knelt down, going eye-to-eye with Gail. He cleared his throat and spit on the woman's face. The blotch of saliva dripped down her cheek. Her face reddened as the person she once dubbed 'property' was now in charge of her fate. The young man reached for Gail's back and unfastened her breastplate. Tossing it aside, he pulled a knife and cut away her latex leotard. She sneered hatefully.

Under the bodysuit was a tattoo on Gail's lower back, an image of the Duke's crest insignia. "Major Gail Ardevina," said the teen stoically "I'm hereby severing your association with Duke Sindreo." With that, he shoved the knife down and carved around the tattoo. At last, the inked strip of flesh was severed from the woman's back. Gail was no longer talking coherently. She was snorting with animalistic noises.

"See. I promised you a piece of Gail. Nice work. We'll take it from here." I pulled my rangamju. Sdalsyra extended another slime string, this time catching a stone on the thread's tip. Blurs amassed on Dyal'xern's boot, not the spike shaped ones that could impale, but heavy blunt ones that didn't necessarily kill in one hit.

Between my hammer, Sdalsyra's rock-on-a string, and Dyal'xern's air weights, the Slave Mistress lasted thirty seconds, if that. Sdalsyra reached for the goop strands and slime wads bounding Gail's battered corpse and pulled them back into her fingers, leaving no trace of gooey residue behind.

"Impressive," declared the local teen, waving about his tattooed trophy.

"It gets less bombastic the more you see enemies die, but it's satisfying nonetheless." I wiped my rangamju on the clothes of a dead soldier. "Get the corpses of the other two we killed yesterday and include them in this package. The more dead Sindreo lovers, the merrier."

Sdalsyra pointed at the strip of flesh in the youth's fingers. "Only when you're able to inflict hurt on the enemy without remorse does the prospect of enduring hurt become less frightening."

"Right, a lesson learned well. I just wish I had something to give you, a token of gratitude." The teenager eyed the four bodies, two of which were no longer in one piece. "After all, I remember what you said. A good deed unrewarded is just another form of slavery."

"Dyal'xern placed a hand on the teen's shoulder. "You're doing something in return already. What will you say when the Duke learns six of his minions, including a favored Slave Mistress, were massacred in this town?"

"It was brigands from the east, yes." The local nodded. He didn't know any more than necessary about us. If he ever wished to learn more, he could travel east himself and find us in Albrook. For now, he was content to help with our plan.

Sdalsyra adjusted her head scarf disguise. "This will needle the Duke's hubris for sure." She glanced at the woods outside of town, towards our parked air vessel. "We should get back and update HQ on a job well done."

"Right," I agreed. "Congrats on out-growing the moral decency that your oppressors exploit," I praised the teenager. "Even if you're the only person who cares about the future and is worth helping in this town, your cooperation means a lot, no matter how little in scale."

I bid him farewell, but he stopped me with a final question. "So, before you split, I want to ask about whatever philosophy you've got. Does might make right?"

"In part," explained Dyal'xern. "But understand that might alone is not the path to the future. If that were true, Duke Sindreo's actions would have no consequences for us."

"Sure, you can steal from those weaker than yourself and get away with it," Sdalsyra pointed out. "But just remember, what can be taken with force is limited in number, and when it's gone, you'll have nothing. Might only makes right when combined with other essentials."

"Interesting." The local's face beamed with interest. He caught on quickly. "If you steal from others' crops enough, there'll be no more crops to supply your stealing habits. One must create whatever they use, or else food will run dry."

"Speaking of food, if you're ever hungry, try this." I picked up a dead trooper's battle hatchet and swung it into a leg of Gail's corpse. "There's plenty of meat here. And since the human body's largely made of water, that should also help with your drinking needs."

The teen thanked us again before we left town. When his tale of 'brigands from the east' found its way to the Duke's ears, Sindreo would send his minions in that direction. They'd be in our turf, exactly where we wanted them.

_change in s & n_

My shift at the farm wouldn't start for an hour, but I left early as to drop by Figaro castle and pay Joe a visit. Updating Edgar on the Mog/Umaro happening was convenient, as I could send a message from my telegraph pad to the King's. Joe however, didn't have access to a telegraph, so I'd update him in person.

The castle commerce hall was bustling with its typical crowd of buyers and sellers. I found Joe at a vending booth in the northwest corner. A few customers purchased something and departed, at which point he spotted me. "Good day Leonard. Here to make a buy?"

"Not exactly." I leaned on the booth counter. "I have some news for you. Earlier this morning I stopped by the moogle caves and spoke with Mog. Our chat was brief but informative."

"Really?" Joe paused in his task of sorting different colored stones. "What'd you learn?"

"Mog was not speaking harshly about Umaro this time. For one reason or another, he believes his disciplinary measures are working." I said nothing about the guard's death in the cave. Joe didn't need such information.

"Why does Mog feel that way?" Joe asked while sorting gems. "Last time we saw him, the moogle was going off about how stupid he considered Umaro."

"He claims the yeti has calmed down and no longer gets argumentative or whiny," I quoted Mog in my own words. "That means something. Mog wouldn't emphasize it otherwise."

"Hmm." Joe continued organizing the jewelry stones. After a long pause, he spoke up. "Let's hope it means something good. Did you see Umaro at all?"

I shook my head. "No. The ban on outside visitors has yet to be lifted, though judging from Mog's words, that's not too far off." I let more buyers observe the jewelry stash. Joe sounded very optimistic about Mog and his yeti companion making up. I tried following his example, but I couldn't share his outlook. It all felt overly simple. Maybe it was the sudden, drastic change in Umaro's attitude. Did the yeti have a sudden revelation that he'd been fucking up all this time, and was now on the track of changing his habits? I had no doubts that Mog was being honest and saying what he really believed, and I trusted his judgment, especially now that his scornful demeanor was gone.

When the customers paid and left the vending booth, Joe regarded me again. "So what else have you been up to?"

Why not share my most positive experience as of recent. "I met Terra again, this time in the snowy hills north of Narshe."

"Ah. Like a date. I guess you have a thing for her, just as I presumed." He sorted through his jewel collection once more. "You should buy her something. I hear she likes rubies." Joe pulled a red stone from the respective pile.

"I'll be damned. I ain't seen you 'bout for some time now Leonard. You didn't forget me, I hope."

That jovial voice and obvious accent could only be that of Sarge. I faced the NCO. "Likewise. What brings you here?"

"Well I ain't no stalker. I came by to get my wife a gift. We're still in contact, even if separated." He eyed the products Joe displayed on the vending counter. "When I asked the King 'bout a fine jewelry vender, he referenced you. I recall the day you came here from Fondanin after Col. Frennard's team rescued ya' in Zozo. You've been doin' plenty of business here since."

"Yes. I can thank King Edgar for that." Joe brought up Sarge's purchase, a bracelet with rubies and emeralds fixed in an alternating pattern. "So, how'd you two meet each other?"

"We used to work together back in the Narshean mines," I said instinctively, answering Joe before Sarge might reveal anything about our shared time at Shedairah. With Joe around, I just didn't feel like mentioning that detail. He still didn't know I worked at the base, let alone survived the massacre.

Sarge pulled some monetary notes from his supply pack and gave them to Joe. "So how's business at the farm?"

"Nothing special," I said. "What about your business."

Sarge took the bagged bracelet. "As usual, I can't spill top secret details Leonard, not when we're talking' about military shit. But suffice to say we got weapons and tools ready to kick some major monster ass when we find the bastards. I've also gone up a level in my weapon wieldin' talents. Maybe a promo's just around the corner."

"Perhaps." I grinned. "But you'll always be Sarge to me."

It wasn't an insult, and Sarge knew that, even if his answer suggested otherwise. "Thank you very fuckin' much Leonard Gurosawn. If that's your attitude, I may as well retire and stay a fuckin' Sarge." His face wouldn't stay straight. The laughs were inevitable. "I gotta be off," he said after calming down. "Gotta put this gift in the express mail pile, which gets picked up in less than an hour. I'll be seein' ya'."

"Take care." I waved him off as he departed the commerce hall. When I looked back at Joe, he gave me the most curious face. "Joe? What's up?"

He blinked. "What did he call you? In all the time we've been acquainted, I've never gotten your last name. But what he called you sounded vaguely familiar. I know I've heard it before somewhere."

I buy my tongue. Had Joe discovered my family's vile legacy now? He'd spent time in Narshe by himself, after I ended the 'guided tour' in the Pasertym district. It was possible he'd overheard some locals cursing my father, and me by association. At the time, he might've assumed it was some other guy named Leonard, but would now make the full connection. But was that the case? "Where did you hear it?" I asked.

The merchant scratched his chin and looked up, as if probing his memory. "Sometime back, when I was just starting the jewelry trade."

I breathed a sign of relief, unbeknownst to Joe. It wasn't recent. But that still left the questions of when, where, and how? Had my father earned infamy in…wherever Joe grew up? Did he _know_ my father personally and suffer dad's wrath, and only now just learn I was the son? I still didn't know the peddler's hometown, but if it was local, there was nothing to deny my father's rep had travelled there.

The uncomfortable silence lingered as Joe tapped his index finger on his lips, gazing up at the high ceiling above. At last, he spoke. "Got it. An old colleague of mine, except his name was Grennisen, not Gurosawn. It was before the great collapse, so it's been a while, and I didn't know him very long. I presumed he was dead, and gave him no second thought until a moment ago."

So that was it. Joe simply got my last name confused with a similar one from an old work partner. He'd not been a victim of my father, and knew nothing of my family's sordid background. If he'd discovered it while exploring Narshe, he surely would've remembered the Gurosawn name, and bombarded me with twenty questions upon learning I bore it. "It's quite a similar name. I can see why you'd cross them up. As Sabin says, if you don't make errors, you're not trying hard enough."

Joe looked over my shoulder. "Looks like I've got customers. You'll have to clear out. I'll see you soon, Mr. Gurosawn."

"Have a good one, Mr. D'Isla," I returned. With the buyers approaching, I left the merchant to his duties. Joe didn't know of my background, and probably didn't care. To him, I was just another Narshean-born folk, a commoner with a past like his, overshadowed by our Returner companions. He was spared from learning about my family's notorious legacy, just as he was spared from knowing about the recent death in the moogle caves. I had no intention of burdening him with such depressing facts, not after he'd moved on from his ordeal in Zozo.

The more I considered it, the more I realized how favorable a first impression I'd made with Joe. He knew me as his equal and 'tour guide' before even hearing my last name. If he ever discovered my family's notoriety, he'd see my virtues before anything else.

_change in s & n_

"Vardigga is considering the appeals of Illstenham and Spervang." My wife read a letter from her relatives.

"That's great for them, and I'm glad you're up-to-date in current affairs in your native land, but we really should focus on the present issue here in the capital." I looked over the papers between us on the study table.

Charise folded the letter from Vardigga and acknowledged the tax records she'd compiled for me. "Certainly. What are you looking for?"

"When I spoke with the guild foreman, he said the un-collected amount of tax money is growing with each intake, as if less and less money is received each time." I sifted through the papers, comparing money gathered to the total amount owed. "But I've not dealt with these records to the extent you have. So I ask, is this true?"

Charise took a deep breath, thumbed some docs, and gave me a deliberate look. "Yes. It's all here in the records, all the proof you need."

She offered me the specific papers she'd referenced. I scanned the figures, and they ascertained what both she and the foreman described. The first time this issue came about, only ten percent was missing, and it actually decreased to eight percent for the next intake. However, that slight drop was offset by a larger climb. The following intake revealed twelve percent was unaccounted for, and the next intake lacked about fifteen percent.

I squinted, my fist tightening up as reality became undeniable. Though many thoughts poured about in my mind, I said very little, hardly expressing my ideas in full. "So it is true."

"I wouldn't make this up Edgar, nor would the guild." She organized the docs and reached for the ones before me. I handed them over without hesitation.

"What's happening?" I asked absently. "Why is the collection of tax money decreasing every time?" My voice trailed off.

Charise cleared her throat. "Edgar, I think you already know that."

Could it be? No, it wasn't possible…was it? The people had come through all this time. Surely they could last until the end. The farmers already said the cutback of water consumption elsewhere was beneficial to them. Sure, those benefits were not long-term, but the plumbing would be finished by then…at least that was my prediction.

Or had it been something else, something not born of fact and reason, but of the total opposite?

Maybe Charise's update on Vardiggan affairs would serve a purpose after all. "Do you think…would it hurt…" My tongue kept fumbling the words. "Might we ask Vardigga for some help in this matter?"

"Wh-what?" Charise blinked several times, her hand releasing the stack of papers, which fell upon the table. "Are you really asking that? Do you even realize what you just said?"

She stared back at me, and I considered her counter question. After some introspection, I clarified myself. "Yes, I meant it. Vardigga knows plenty about irrigation and water flows, as your nation thrives upon them. Surely they know a means to help this plumbing modification go more smoothly."

Knowing I was serious, she narrowed her eyes, providing a serious answer. "Edgar, you know what will happen if you ask them for such? You've never been popular with anyone in Vardigga, not even my family. To them, you were little more than a politician who said one thing and did the opposite. I see your virtues where most other Vardiggans do not, but that doesn't change my country's general perspective. You were deemed incompetent before we met each other, and if you ask for help like so, they'll only consider you even more inept at running this kingdom. My homeland won't spare one resource for you in this affair, not even if you promised compensation."

This was not unexpected. Vardigga had no desire to lend its assets to someone whom they looked down upon heavily until the last three years. Even now, despite no hard feelings, I was hardly praised or hailed by them. "You're right. They'll say it's my problem, which it is. If I press harder for help, they'll shove me away with greater force. If I promise a reward, they'll just call me a liar. It was a stupid question."

"Indeed." Charise picked up and organized the papers she'd dropped. "What possessed you to even consider that prospect, let alone verbalize it?"

"I…just…I dunno. I was only trying to be resourceful and creative. We could use any options we come across."

"Being creative is one thing," acknowledged my wife. "Being ignorant is sometime else completely. People normally don't make such pathetic, far out suggestions to solve a problem, unless they become…"

"What?" I asked.

She didn't answer, but instead looked at me, her face softening. "Edgar, you're not okay, are you. Were that so, you'd never suggest asking Vardigga for aide."

I sighed. "You've got me there. Truth be told, I've never hidden my feelings of unease regarding this waterworks upgrade."

She leaned a couple inches closer. "It's more than simple unease dear. You've not relaxed about it since the first increase in taxes, but thinking aloofly as you just did marks a whole new level of anxiety. I'd venture to say you're feeling…different."

She explained what that meant, and I reactively tried denying such. But my words brought no comfort. Was she correct? My downplaying her assumption surely didn't feel accurate.

If I really felt that way, I had reason to. Why was the tax intake steadily shrinking? There was a distinct possibility. I'd always feared it, yet never assumed it was the case. But now, perhaps it was.

_change in s & n_

"Yes Locke. I know you wanted greatly to meet Joe's friend, but he's moved out of town by this time, so it's irrelevant." I braced myself for an obsessive comeback on his part.

But instead, he saw it my way. "Yes it is. Let's think about ourselves and our business now."

"Well said." I took his hand as we proceeded down the street.

We'd been doing plenty of trade in Quildern these last few days, and we had more money to spend on supplies. On this day, we ventured into the capital to gather a whole new style of accessories.

As chocobo wagons passed by, a crowd of pedestrians crossed the street, with us among them. Not two blocks past the intersection was the arts and crafts mart. The store offered plenty of decorations from which to choose, and we spared not one second in going inside and looking around. A clerk directed us to the back isles, where our choice accessories could be found.

Locke stood at the far end of a merchandise shelf, sorting through a bin of decorations. I was behind him, checking out bags on the display hooks. Some background chatter drifted over, but it was so far away, we gave it little attention.

After five minutes of browsing, I chose a sack of colored metallic beads that shined reflectively. "How's this?" I asked.

"Bravo. Those oughta' match our stash at home. And here's my pick." Locke pulled some copper necklaces from the display box. Some of the old relics we polished up could be hung from chains like the ones he'd picked out. "So, what say you?"

"Absolutely not!"

Both of us were caught off guard by this new voice. It wasn't loud enough to halt all commerce in the store, but loud enough to jar us from where we stood. I exchanged a gaze with Locke. The stern voice came from a man not five feet away, on the other side of the display shelf. He was unseen, but certainly not unheard.

Before either of us could comment, a woman's voice answered him. "But you promised her. How will she feel when you break that promise?"

The man was silent, pondering her words to him. "I did promise that, yes. But things have changed since then. We have less money available."

The woman didn't pull back. "Is that reason enough to forfeit our daughter's birthday present?" Her voice was getting edgy.

"If we spend on that luxury, we'll forfeit this month's rent. The landlord will kick us out." While the man spoke clearly, he was not content. Neither of us dared peek around the shelf. In fact, we'd overheard more than enough of this personal conversation. I pointed at the store's front end, suggesting we check out and bail. Locke had no objections. Both of us were ready to leave, but the man's next words held us back. "You know how high the King's plumbing tax has become."

I shared another glance with Locke. That man was referencing Edgar's taxation policy, and from the sound of things, he wasn't impressed with it.

The talk from the hardware store's nursery came to mind. One clerk was skeptical about Edgar's taxation practices, such as cutting back on water use that was more supplementary than essential. Judging from the discussion beyond the shelf, such doubts had grown since. We continued listening.

"Are you cutting down the King's tax procedure, after all he's done for the world, especially for us here in town?" The woman's voice rose in sharpness.

"I'm not sure what to think. I complied at first like everyone else, thinking this matter would blow over and be fixed quickly. Now though, we've so little to spend, yet he still taxes us. What am I supposed to think?"

Now the woman was left speechless for a moment. "Give it time. He's made progress. That much is clear."

"I've been patient," he argued. "I've given it time enough. We don't have the money to wait any longer. We can't even pay the full amount of tax revenue a right now, and must skimp by while paying the minimum that's due. Even then, we still can't afford our child's choice birthday present. This is bullshit. Our tax money might as well be flushed down the toilet."

Locke's face tensed into a glaring scowl. "That guy talked shit about Edgar. What a fucking prick. I should give that bastard a piece of my mind." His fist shook visibly.

"No," I hissed, trying not to draw attention. The couple beyond had likely attracted much already. "It's not your place to tell the locals what to think."

His eyes flashed to me, twitching with disgust. "Celes, don't you get it? That man's putting down the very person who's bending over backwards to keep this town alive. Never mind our friendship with Edgar. He's the King of this nation, and the very person who established this town. We can't just let people blow off his generosity like that."

Though he never wanted it and certainly wasn't comfortable with it, Edgar had amassed a certain group of vehement followers who placed him on the golden pedestal, obsessively singing his praises and virtues while ravenously opposing anyone who didn't see eye-to-eye with their hero worship. Having known the monarch since childhood, Locke was dangerously close to becoming part of the said group. He got furiously defensive when Edgar was questioned. His feelings overshadowed his mind.

I kept my own feelings out of the picture, as he would not do the same. "Your opinions are of your own choosing, but let these people have theirs. We don't live here in town. We aren't playing the taxes. Those people know more than we do."

Locke turned his glower at the shelf wall. On the other side was the arguing couple. "That ungrateful, short-sighted motherfucking-"

"Locke." My free hand clamped down on his wrist. I could envision him storming over there and unleashing a venomous retort at the man who spoke ill of Edgar's procedure. From the way Locke's eyes glinted and his brow creased, I couldn't write off that scenario, especially given how familiar I was with Locke's temper and one-dimensional support of the King. "Listen, a minute ago you agreed to leave. Now you're looking to stay and feed a conflict that doesn't involve you."

"If they're talking shit about Edgar, it goddamn well involves me," he growled through his teeth. At least his noise volume was still contained. "And it consequently involves you too. Why are you so tolerant? I'd think you'd be around the corner while I was still considering it."

"Don't include me in your tantrums." I squeezed his wrist a little tighter. "I know we're good friends with the King, but he doesn't need us fighting his battles. That man did nothing but speak words. Edgar's more resilient than to let mere verbal criticism break him down." I leaned in close and rolled my eyes, matching Locke's expression. "You've known Edgar long enough to realize this fact."

"Even so…still…" Locke didn't complete his sentence. He gazed at the shelf once more, as if trying to see through it. There was silence. The quarreling couple must've left.

"They're gone," I pointed out the obvious. "We should follow suit." I released my grip. Locke grit his teeth and snarled something under his breath which I couldn't make out.

We purchased our goods and left the supply shop. Neither of us said anything more about the overheard quarrel, but I doubted Locke had cleared his mind of it.

I couldn't fault him entirely. After all, we Returners were a team. Locke greatly wanted to help anyway he could. With doubt growing among the public, this urge was even more pronounced. Locke wouldn't leave well enough alone, until he was absolutely sure things would go as planned without his input.

But we didn't even live in this city. What could Locke or I do to assist Edgar's plumbing project. Nothing, and I knew this. But would Locke understand?

_change in s & n_

Guards greeted us at the doors of the dungeon complex, which we'd now dubbed 'storage'.

"How'd it go in Asniele?" Qaurjaeda asked once we entered the building.

"I thought it would become a pointless waste of time. Even after seeing one of their own get crushed to death by an armored walker, the locals refused to fight and spill their oppressors' blood." I angled the hand cart around a hallway corner. "They viewed such action as heinous, even when logic demanded it."

"Heinous?" snorted the Grav-wielder in mockery, adding one of his personal lines. "Heinous my anus. If their pacifism allowed such a death, more will follow. Didn't they comprehend that fact?"

The two of us passed a few soldiers observing the 'meat stashes'. "Apparently not. As much as they feared the Duke's violence, they were more afraid of using such violence for their own gain, favoring 'innocent' cowardice and torturous misery above intelligent, practical survival."

Qaurjaeda let loose more blue streaks and vulgarities, the exact lines we were thinking when the villagers refused our logic. "Fuck them. People that weak and stupid aren't meant to live. But, if no one favored our tactics, how'd something useful come from the excursion?"

"One youth in town," I answered with a more positive tone. "His father was the person who got crushed beneath that walking armor, to be precise. He was more than happy to give us information in exchange for our setting an example. He found a stroke of good luck. One of Sindreo's top Slave Mistresses would be coming around the next day. We waited for that, and killed her when she came. Ditto for her company, but we let one of them escape, to get Duke's attention."

"Do they know anything about us, anything they shouldn't?" The crude Pung Thoshidei reached behind him to scratch a butt itch.

"Dyal'xern ad Sdyalsyra acted like foreign bandits, seeking to loot the Duke's minions. To express his gratitude further, the youth promised to spread a lie regarding 'brigands from the east'."

In the days since we'd come back form Asniele after killing Gail Ardevina and most of her company, word had gotten out. Duke Sindreo was none too pleased that one of his top followers had been slain by some nameless thief gang. The local youth's fib was bought in full. The Duke had taken our bait, and was gathering a naval force to send our way.

There was one thing to be said for Sindreo Geminsa. He didn't conceal his intentions. Though he was no less power-hungry than the Empire or its heirs in House Virnone, the Marandan Duke was brutally honest. He didn't use law and order as a deceitful pretext for mind control and conquest. He admittedly used conquest and ferocity as a means of attaining glorious aggrandizement, and promised to share such aggrandizement with those who served him well.

In some ways, the Duke was quite the opposite of the Imperials and their loyalists. Gestahl was deceptive, while Sindreo was in-your-face direct. The Empire's primary tool was sly manipulation, while the Duke's was unmasked intimidation. The Imperials were hard-line rightists who believed in keeping tradition, while Duke Sindreo sought modernization as a far leftist, seeking to enshrine himself as the bringer of such. It was conservative tradition that he dismembered upon killing Gallisirva.

To his credit, the Duke was charismatic, from time to time. Killing Gallisirva earned him plenty of endearment from his loyal fringe crowd, which grew upon her death. The Empress denied so much to so many in the name of selfless purity, her demise could've spelled a new age of freedom for Maranda. Of course, Duke Sindreo was more content to play deity than simple liberator. Those who followed him were granted spoils and entitlement, if they elevated him to a supernatural status. If one believed in Sindreo's ideas and acted accordingly to carry them out, they were privileged. Anyone who didn't believe him to be the cosmic being he often claimed was subject to torture and death. Those who believed in Gallisirva were the first targets of his rage.

And for all his overt brutality, the man had a way with certain people. At one time, the Duke enacted a treaty with Jidoor, paying them large sums of his 'inheritance' to aide his campaigns (the money was taken from the deceased Emperor and Empress). The Duke claimed this was a chance to keep the Imperial heirs away from Jidooran territory. In it for the money and nothing else, Jidoor complied for a while. But an enemy attack caused the destruction of Jidoor's outpost in Foraziale, a town just north of Maranda's namesake capital. Jidoor bailed from Maranda after this, leaving the Duke to fend off his enemies by himself.

While despicable and mentally degenerate, Sindreo Geminsa had loyal numbers willingly serving his command. His influence was that contagious. There were no captive Minister Gorukean types we could turn against him.

His forces were bound for our location. It was time to prepare wisely. We came upon the cells with solid metallic doors, not the sliding bar doors in the main section. This was the solitary confinement block, where the last real catch remained.

A soldier noticed us with the hand cart, and unlocked the door in question. "Watch him," I advised. "Who know what'll happen once he's unchained."

"I doubt anything much. He's been turnip ever since you left for Tzen. We fed him with a tube." The Grav-wielder leered. "He doesn't even react to my farts. If that gets no reaction, he's a veggie."

"Be careful not to kill him in full with your gas attacks," I teased as the cell door was opened.

The special catch lay huddled up between a mattress and an old blanket, his limbs still shackled with balls and chains. I followed Qaurjaeda into the cell. The flatulent Pung Thoshidei pulled the blanket off the inert catch, placing his hands to the catch's throat. "There's a pulse. He's still with us, at the bare minimum."

After I placed the hand cart flat next to the mattress, the soldier pulled out a key ring and inserted the right key into the first shackle, on the catch's left foot. As I held my breath, the bind clicked open and was pulled away. Qaurjaeda's hand immediately tightened down in its place. He pulled the leg over to the hand cart, and I secured another cuff on the ankle, allowing Qaurjaeda to release his grip. There was no sign of resistance. I let out my breath.

We repeated the process on the other three shackles, until the catch was firmly secured to the hand cart. Content, we left the dungeon/warehouse en route for the underground railway stop. After a two minute wait, we boarded an eastbound car en route to Yithadri's dome. Once there, we rode the cable car to the hilltop, greeted the sentries, and stepped inside.

Yithadri and Ruqojjen were conversing on the central platform. Their faces didn't look worrisome, but their expressions were hardly relaxed. Dyal'xern, Sdalsyra, and Baokiydu stood on a walkway connecting the center platform to the periphery ledge, with folded arms, hands on hips, and leaning in the guardrail respectively. Chithagu was at their feet wagging his tail. Had something major gone down?

"Did we miss the convention?" asked Qaurjaeda as we approached with the special cargo.

Baokiydu shrugged. "Beats me. We all just got here."

"Good, you're all around, and you've got the special catch." Yithadri pointed at the hand cart and instructed some her aides to relieve me of it. She faced Ruqojjen. "I'll start the preparations. Fill them in with the news."

Yithadri joined her aides in examining the catch, while the High Shenthaxa addressed us collectively. "We got an update from Morris, and you won't believe it."

My lip stiffened up. "What happened?" It had to be something big, or else the five Pung Thoshidai wouldn't have been summoned here.

The Nyufalng chief motioned for us to follow him out of the dome chamber. "He made himself a rather…curious acquaintance."

_change in s & n_

Sabin jabbed furiously with his studded knuckles, and I parried each blow with my scimitar. This was a make-up session, but I was getting plenty out of it.

"Got anymore exercises?" I asked, hoping to accomplish what I could before Sabin left.

He let up on the raging storm of pummels. "In fact I do, the last one for the day."

I felt my brow. Not one drop of sweat had broken. "It's all good."

Sabin was putting lots of his free time into helping the construction crews. For a person not affiliated with the Reservoir Guild, he certainly put his all into the project, and without pay at that. Being a non-member, he was ineligible to receive a financial reward.

He flexed his shoulders. "You never cease to amaze me Terra. I didn't land one strike on you. Barely a year ago, I'd have nailed you with the first punch."

"Like I've said before, this just shows how good I am." I posed with my sword, pointing it at him. "And how good you are as an instructor. I owe this growth to you."

He chuckled. "You learn well. I didn't teach you the quickness of your learning rate. You got that yourself. And now for the next test." He went inside and came back with an empty coffee can. "It's not much, but it's enough for this drill. Use the energy strike to dent this."

I raised the blade, unsure of his directions. "That's rather simplistic."

"Dent it while it's airborne. That's not so easy." He smiled.

"Oh. Now that's more like it, a test of focus and accuracy." I faced the open dojo yard.

Sabin raised the metallic cylinder. "On your time Terra." When I gave him the cue, he tossed the canister up high. His spiritually-boosted strength made the can go higher than the dojo's roof. The toss was done for height, but it didn't go straight up. Aiming for it was more involved, but I tracked and gauged its trajectory.

Imbuing my energy into the scimitar, I thrust upward from my stomach. A white blur exploded from the sword tip, a miniature shooting star. It went up as the can came down. Some twenty feet off the ground, the 'star' vanished and the can wobbled, flipping down to the yard's dirt floor, heavily dented before landing.

Sabin walked over and retrieved the damaged target. "Excellent, but I know what you can pull off, so it's no surprise. Don't feel snubbed or anything."

I spun the weapon in my hand. "Not at all. I also have concrete ideas of what I can do."

"Keep that thought, because," Sabin looked down at his watch "it's time to call it a day. The crew needs me."

At least the blitz lessons weren't totally overshadowed by Sabin's volunteer work, this time. "Sabin, why are you…doing that? Not that I'm critical, but you're getting no payments for all your hard work."

I followed him out to the front steps, where he locked the doors. "Terra, I want this to succeed. The King is my brother and this town is pretty much my home. Sure, it's not even five years old, but it rests upon the soil of my birthplace. I cherish my homeland, and while it obviously needs Edgar, it also needs its secondary prince. I was a royal heir before leaving the throne for a commoner's life. Whatever my land needs, I'll do my best to provide."

"Oh, so it's like an obligation to your brother and your country," I said with some understanding. "But surely you're limited in what you can do. Not that I'm denying your passion or selflessness, but you're not getting paid for it. Does it ever feel debilitating?"

The blitz master sighed. "Of course. It gets tiring, especially since money's not a factor. Not everyone can do it for free as I am, so I can't expect others to follow my example. People who don't shouldn't be criticized for it. But as I said, this is my nation, a proud nation that's growing in technology and efficiency. This plumbing construction is part of said efficiency, upon which this entire city relies. Not mention I have strength talents most others don't, and doing it for free means one extra person with no extra labor tax."

"I see. It's very generous of you."

He took a few paces down the front stairs. "The greatest reward is not always money. The success of this waterworks completion will make every taxed GP count, but even that won't match the satisfaction of a job well done."

"Naturally," I said.

"I really must be off. I've a train to catch. I'll se you next lesson, wherever I can fit one in." He walked toward the street, but paused halfway. "You know Terra, I really do apologize, if I've placed more importance on helping the guild workers than on your training. It's not what I intended. I owe explanations to you, Leonard, Relm, and Gau alike."

"I understand. The city population dwarfs the number of your students. Don't think you've prioritized wrong or anything."

He said nothing, but waved and continued his walk to the train station. I sat on a dojo step. His motivations were definitely in the right place, assisting his brother with a monumental, city-wide task. It was only temporary, and when this project concluded, the whole town would be new and improved.

So why'd I get this nagging idea that Sabin's efforts would make little difference in the end? There was no alternative to this re-plumbing. The city would face a drought otherwise. Anything new was better than nothing at all. The project was nearing completion, so I'd heard.

I couldn't dwell on this matter, as I had nothing to contribute. Leaving it on such a note, I stood up and made for the train station, catching the next ride bound for Narshe. When I got home, I checked my telegraph pad and found a printed message from Leonard.

He was interested in another get-together, but this was far from the usual ones we'd had so far. As I read more, I felt more enthused. I'd never thought of this particular idea.

I set up my telegraph for a reply. This time, I had more than one message to send.

_change in s & n_

"No fucking way!" Baokiydu paced about anxiously. "It's really him?"

We'd gathered in a smaller room of Yithadri's quarters, where Ruqojjen shared Morris's new discovery. Few things could match how surprising this truly was. The sudden revelation seen after we cleaned up Zozo was the only comparable experience.

"Yes, it's him." Ruqojjen's smooth stoic voice was totally opposite of Baokiydu's gruff, edgy one. "Morris dug around and gathered info from varied sources, all claiming the same thing."

"Damn. I never would've imagined it." Sdalsyra looked down at the tile floor. "But it makes sense. He'd affiliate with such company, and they'd openly welcome him."

Chithagu was quiet as usual, but the discussion wasn't lost on him. His tail wagged in short, rapid motions, and his lip curled back to unmask his teeth. He understood the ambiance, even if he provided no commentary.

I stroked him and stood up. "So, is there a plan? Surely you and Morris discussed something."

"Of course Ajalni. There's a plan in motion." The High Shenthaxa tightened his fist. "Individuals like Morris's friend are too malicious to be swept under the rug and ignored. Morris will be in touch when he completes the plan's first phase."

"What about our plans here?" Dyal'xern asked. "Any changes to countering the Duke's naval assault?"

"Not at all. Our mission here remains unchanged. Beefing up our garrison at Lenshelgh is top priority." Ruqojjen pointed westward using his thumb. "They'll descend upon that harbor town first, believing it's a hideout for brigands."

"And when they do, we make a mess." Qaurjaeda palmed his fist vigorously.

Our plan was simple and clear, but I was still curious about Morris's objective, even if I'd play no part in it. "What's Morris's new plan entail?"

"He'll be in contact once he's able to disappear easily. We'll go from there." The High Shenthaxa was vague. "Don't get sidetracked now. It's his mission, not yours."

"Right," I agreed. "He does his job, and we do ours. Will the special catch help with exactly that?"

He glanced towards the domed chamber. "We'll know after Yithadri examines his energy force, but yes, it should be ready by this time."

"And we'll kick ass," mused Qaurjaeda. "What about the ports here in town? The Duke will get greedy at some point, and turn his sights on this capital."

"By the time he does, we'll have butchered most of his army, if we play his aggression right." Ruqojjen looked down at this gauntlet radio, which flashed and buzzed. He answered it, saying he'd meet the caller. "I must be off. My presence is needed in the aero-dome. When we get updates from Morris, you'll all know." He departed into the corridor outside.

I shook my head, still ingesting this new revelation. "I never would've believed it." I glanced at Sdalsyra. "But you like you said, it's fitting, for both sides."

"Maybe this is fortuitous," Dyal'xern put in, boosting his ego with optimism. "Imagine the consequences if we _didn't_ learn what we just did."

"We don't have to," said Baokiydu, his raspy voice out of synch with his relieved tone. "Whatever schemes the prick has in mind will be fucked up, and that will be that."

_change in s & n_

An entire room in our condo served a workshop, where Locke and I cleaned, modified, and assembled our craft wares. Unlike the bedroom and front room, the floor of this workshop was solid concrete. There was no carpet to stain if we spilled paint or polish, and the smooth masonry floor was easily cleaned with little more than a broom and some towels.

A large table was set in the middle of the workshop, with an electric light directly overhead. Locke and I were seated at opposite ends of the table, him polishing stained metalwork and I hanging beads on a leather string. Although Locke's hands were firmly occupied with the handicraft, his mind was elsewhere.

Once again, he was obsessing. But I didn't fault him this time. His topic of choice wasn't a trivial outdated matter like Joe's ignorance of Quildern's jewelry trade or Bren's leaving town for Spervang. Locke was now dwelling on a present affair that was highly significant.

He sighed once again, shaking his head and while pouring metal polish onto a felt cloth. "We really should do something. I feel very uncomfortable sitting by passively."

I strung more beads in alternating colors on the leather cord. "Locke, what can we do? We don't even live in the capital."

"We're still friends with Edgar," he insisted. "We should do…_something._"

I wouldn't be critical. The man's heart was definitely in the right place regarding motivations. But he wasn't thinking rationally. I finished the beadwork and pulled a clasp from a spare parts tray. "Like what? What can we do for him that someone's not doing already?"

"Well…we could…just…you know…something…" Locke didn't have a clear answer.

I finished the beaded chocker necklace and placed it in a box for finished products. "That's not very helpful." For someone who wanted this badly to help, he was clueless about accomplishing such. I stated the obvious, believing he'd realize the truth. "We really can't do much from here. We're not scientists with knowledge of the desert's geological makeup, we're not machinists who could aide in the piping construction, and we're not metallurgists who could provide the raw materials for pipes and building tools."

Locke scrubbed a tarnished piece of silver he'd found in a river bank during one of our hunts. "We need not work in those specialized professions to help out. Remember what that couple in the craft store said. They can't pay Edgar's high tax in full. Someone has to compensate."

I placed my next bead project down and looked at him, grasping his words thrice over. He was going in a very specific direction, and I couldn't let him go any further. "Are you suggesting we pay tax money ourselves?"

He didn't flinch. "Someone's gotta do it, and the locals can't pay enough."

A selfless display like this would've been noble, if it weren't so flawed and illogical. "Locke, listen to yourself. You're getting carried away with this help-and-serve mentality. We need our earnings to pay local tax here in Quildern, not to mention purchase supplies for this crafts business. We can't go broke paying for new water utilities in another city."

He scrubbed the silver clean and looked at me, squinting one eye. "Why are you so unconcerned Celes? How do you think Edgar would feel?"

Locke's selfless attitude was fast becoming a liability. "He's asked us for nothing, and I doubt he'd want us digging through our savings to fund his taxation. It's for the capital. We'll get nothing out of it, except a debt at the least, and bankruptcy if we go too far. You know what you're becoming? Desperate. No rational person would make these absurd suggestions."

Locke's jaw tightened up. "Desperate? Think of how Edgar feels. He's the one in charge of this whole thing, and he's the person with the weight of the entire capital on his shoulders. How must he feel, knowing his taxation assets are coming up short?" There was no hiding the concern in his voice, concern bordering on worry.

"I'm not denying he'd feel that way, but like I said, I don't think he wants us paying money for the capital's new plumbing system."

My truthful answer did nothing to convince him. "Edgar's not asked yet, but don't think he won't."

Before I could counter, the telegraph in our bedroom made its beeping noise. Someone had sent us a message. I took this chance to momentarily distract myself from Locke's misguided generosity.

Leaving him, I went to see the new message. It was simple, yet worded colorfully to emphasize its point, an idea that I found rather interesting.

I returned to Locke, showing him the message. Maybe this optimistic news would get him off the desperation, for both his sake and mine. "Look. Terra messaged us. It's an invitation of sorts."

Locke pulled off his work glove and read the note. He smiled. "I'm interested. Are you?"

"Of course. I'll check the calendar for mutual availability." At least for now, Locke wasn't dwelling on negative thoughts and matters of which we could change nothing. Hopefully, this letter's news would keep him on a more positive track.


	31. The Apex and the Plunge

**Chapter 31: The Apex and the Plunge**

Charise looked over my shoulder as I rummaged around in our bedroom closet. "Are you sure about this Edgar?"

I pulled more boxes off the closet shelf, seeking a small metal strongbox of significance. "What else would I do? There's no alternative. My worst fear about this taxation has come true. I'll intervene before it grows any larger." After pushing a few last boxes aside, I found the container of interest.

It was a small square box with a lock that required its own key. This key was secretly placed under the bottommost drawer of my night stand. Pulling that out and removing the small, plain key, I opened the lockbox. Inside were various articles, but only one of them was of interest right now. I removed it.

Charise fixed her eyes on this object. "The key to our private vault."

Unlike the box key, this vault key was at least twice the size, and decked with colored jewels on its butt end. "That's right." I shut the lockbox and placed it on the closet floor to easily access later. "It's time I complied with my own tax law."

The last tax collection reinforced what I'd concluded already. The back pay I-own-you was growing as less and less money tax money was gathered each time. Nearly twenty percent was unaccounted for in this last collection round. The construction crews were losing their motivation because of these dwindling monetary figures.

There was only one option to keep their drive going. Charise and I would fund the plumbing tax from own pocket. I'd enter the vault and take a designated sum out of our personal account to fund the taxation.

Next to our closed bedroom door was the Minister of Figaro's Treasury, Antonio Larsone. He stood from the armchair and joined us, looking over the vault key in my hand. "This is not a decision made lightly, King Edgar. But understand this much, when the public knows of your generosity, it will boost your appeal tenfold."

I smiled, but had second thoughts immediately afterward. I wasn't second guessing Antonio's vote of confidence, but there was an obscure angle I'd seen that he didn't. "Must they know?" I stared at the closed door. Two guards stood on duty outside. I didn't want this to go public right now, and maybe it was best to keep it under the carpet entirely.

With a deep breath, I explained my reasoning. "I'd prefer to keep this from the public. They don't have to know."

Antonio blinked in confusion. "Highness. Why? Why cover up such a charitable giving. I know you aren't seeking fame or favors, but think of the gratitude you'd attain if the people learned of this sacrifice."

Again, Antonio didn't see all the possibilities. As King, I had a little more intuition. "Gratitude is but a single prospective result. It's obvious that the average person of this town can't pay the increasingly steep tax while catering to their own daily essentials. If people learned I was funding this project with my own currency, many of them would pay even less, thinking the rich King of Figaro can do all the work."

My wife and the Minister frowned in synch. Charise touched my forearm. "Edgar, you sound very skeptical of your own people. You honestly believe they'd commit tax evasion if word of this got out?"

I didn't answer immediately. In a much different circumstance, I wouldn't have adopted that cynical an outlook. But this was no time for overly idealistic hopes. "I don't want to risk such. Better to prepare than be caught off guard."

"You're right." Antonio nodded in understanding. "I won't argue with your gut feelings."

"This will make a difference, in one way or another." Charise took my free hand. "More to the point, it's obvious what'll happen if we _don't _do this."

"Let's not ever go there. We've had setbacks enough as it is. I knew this wouldn't be a light, mediocre task, but I didn't anticipate all these other trails we've hit so far. Let's not vex ourselves with hurdles we can avoid." I faced Antonio. "We're ready."

"Very well Sire. I'll accompany you as witness, to document this transaction for the record." This Minister stepped aside. I unlocked and opened the door.

Just out in the hallway stood an eager Joe. "Good day King Edgar. I was seeking you, and was told you were in here on business, so I figured I'd wait until you were done.

Technically, I hadn't finished yet. But the merchant was oblivious to the personal decision I made only seconds ago not fifteen feet away from his person, hidden by the closed bedroom door. I put on a smile. "Hi Joe. I have a moment. What do you need?"

"I'm just dropping by to inform you that I'm taking vacation," announced the peddler. "I've discussed it with the lead merchant down in the commerce hall, and he approved of such leave. I'll be gone for a week and a half."

"Sounds great," I put in. Joe had no clue how great I believed it was for him. He could take something that I could not. The King of Figaro didn't get a week-long recreational leave, certainly not with a massive plumbing project like this reaching a pivotal turning point as it just had. "What's the choice destination?"

"I've seen Narshe, and plenty of this capital, so I'm headed for South Figaro." He accentuated the name of my kingdom's most essential harbor town. "I've never been, so it's the perfect time to explore. I'm curious about one thing." He folded his arms. "Do you have any contacts in South Figaro who's be generous enough to provide lodging, being that I'm a Returner contact myself?"

I took a deep breath. "No. No one in South Figaro would grant you such, even though you work in my castle. We've no such contacts there." I said exactly what he needed to hear, even though it could disappoint him.

Joe didn't feel that way however. "No bother. I can afford a hotel." He glanced at his watch. "I should start packing. Good luck with your waterworks upgrade."

Antonio and Charise joined me in the hall as I waved to a departing Joe, who strode around a corner. "Have a good one," I called as the jewel seller left my sight. I needed all the votes of trust I could garner.

"Will this be the last of the issues?" asked my wife, her voice unsure yet hopeful at the same time.

I shut the bedroom door and dismissed the guards. "I'm not making any conclusions. Maybe, maybe not. I'm won't make gloomy predictions that might become self-fulfilling, but my guard is up and high. In truth, I honestly don't know what's around the next corner, given all we've encountered so far."

There was no point in worrying about what could be. The next setback would only be known once it happened, if that. With Charise and Antonio behind me, I led the way downstairs to the vault, undertaking this new step of personal intervention. Once this task was accomplished, I could set up the military's beast hunt in the northern mountains.

_change in s & n_

I kept fidgeting, tapping my feet and scratching my jacket as the train sped through the capital. Terra and I had met at Ghearn's Coop once before, by her recommendation. Back then, she broke the news to me about espers having a softer and gentler side lost to popular myth, effectively starting a series of reveals that let us open up to each other. Now we'd be meeting at the same place again, this time to finish what she started.

The last piece of the puzzle was in my hand. She revealed all about her half-esper past, it was my turn to open up and complete my side. My family's despicable past would be secretive to her no longer. And we'd have some company.

The train finally pulled into the station a few blocks north of the poultry house. I departed and walked down the commercial street. As I expected, the chicken mascot character stood outside the restaurant's entrance, waving to random passers-by. Not far from this caricature though, someone else stood on the sidewalk waving to me in particular, a green-haired woman.

No sooner had I opened my arms did hers encircle my person. "Who needs a mascot's greeting when I provide a more personal one?" she giggled.

"Most other people, the ones _not _here to meet you," I said back, chuckling. "If you like greeting folks, put on the chicken costume and make a job from it."

Terra glanced back at the caricature. The person under the costume got paid to just stand there and draw attention to the restaurant. Ghearn's likely owed much of its business to the mascot's promo campaign. "I don't know. It must get awfully hot under that suit, especially this time of year. I'll stick to being 'Aunt Terra' the sitter."

She had a thing for children "I'm sure kids love the mascot. You'd still get to see them, and without imposing bedtime regulations. I'm sure the pay is larger too."

"Looks like our example has finally caught on," came a voice from behind me. Locke and Celes stood hand-in-hand, not unlike Terra and I.

"Ahem. Who set the example? We were here first," I declared mockingly.

"Maybe so, but us two were romantic long before you two even met." Locke kissed Celes on her cheek to emphasize his claim.

Though Ghearn's Coop wasn't exactly centered in the capital, it was pretty well centered between Narshe and Quildern. Locke and Celes need not travel any further than Terra and I to get here, and the food was excellent. Since Locke and Celes were present when Arvis blew a blood vessel upon first seeing me in Returner company, I felt somewhat obliged to share with them why he despised my father, and me by extension. Terra was even more curious, and had been for a longer period of time.

The result was this planned double date at Ghearn's, where I'd share my final secret and liberate myself for good, with a scrumptious meal to boot.

Inside the Coop, we took seats at a booth table in a back corner of the dining area. The couple from Quildern sat on one side, with me and my half-esper love interest on the other. We ordered the first two courses of our meal. After getting waters and an appetizer of soup with kale and shredded spinach, the spotlight was on me. "So Leonard. Are you going to eat absently, or spill your piece?" Locke reached into the soup pot with a ladle and poured himself a cup.

I started once all our cups were filled. With a deep breath, I set off my final reveal. "You all certainly know about the esper that was found in the Narshean mines, which the Empire wanted for itself. But few people outside of Narshe ask the question; how did the Empire learn of this esper? It didn't call attention to itself by saying 'Hi Imperials. Come and steal me.'" Though I'd been eager to get this over with, I wasn't rushing it.

Celes downed a spoonful of soup. "Hardly. I can't imagine such behavior on Tritoch's behalf.

"So how did the Empire discover Tritoch anyway?" Locke drank some water. "Truth be told, I never really considered that prospect. Our minds were too preoccupied with keeping the esper out of Imperial hands."

"Most of the townspeople wished to forget about it, deny its existence, bury it once more, and move on. But not everyone in town was so obliging." I stirred my soup, knowing it was time to thicken this tale. Three eager faces were fixed upon me. "In fact, there were two individuals of note in charge of the very mining business that uncovered the creature. They knew plenty of the Empire's lust for magic and the esper's abundance of such." I downed some soup, letting the hot fluid pour down my throat. "These people were Nicola Braslino and Julus Gurosawn, my old man and his partner in profiteering."

Locke's mouth fell open, showing off the crushed bits of soup cracker on his tongue. "Wha…you mean…your father helped dig up the esper?"

"And then?" Celes asked. "I can't imagine anything good came about."

"Well, not for most of the town, but plenty of benefits came along for dad and the Braslinos. The two orchestrated a get-richer-quick scheme, and though it was many negative things, it was not a failure." I finished my soup and pushed the cup and spoon aside. Now came that moment of truth. "They contacted the Empire and claimed to know of a very special resource. They'd share it in exchange for immunity and wealth. Long-story short, my father informed the Imperials about the frozen esper in town, and they paid him great sums for this information. He's the man who brought the Empire to Narshe's doorstep, committing high treason and war profiteering at once. As if Narshe hadn't suffered from him enough already." My fist clenched up, despite relieving myself of this burden I'd withheld for so long. It had been years since I'd last spoken of it, and I wasn't this detailed.

_change in n_

For a second, my world froze, my spoon hovering over the last fourth of my soup. Locke and Celes were also quiet, likely sharing my inner thoughts. I gazed at Leonard, flexing his fingers repeatedly, having purged a great deal of inner turmoil from the deepest reaches of his mind.

Everything fell into place now. The widespread public distrust of him, Arvis's implications, and the 'betrayer's offspring' tag were revealed in full. Leonard Gurosawn lived as a hermit for much of his adult life because of his father's treachery. The general populace of his hometown despised him for the actions of his father, who was notorious long before the esper was discovered. Julus Gurosawn usurped and deceived his way to the top through con schemes, bribery, and blackmail, but the spoils of all these and more weren't enough. He wanted to climb higher, and selling out Narshe to the Imperials was the key to that desired ascension. He could add treason and war profiteering to his malicious record, crimes that carried a sentence of death. They would for anyone else, but even justice was bought out by Leonard's father, and the man got away scot free.

I drank some water and finished the soup. Surely the tale didn't end there. "Leonard, I had no idea, but it makes sense. Someone from inside Narshe informed the Empire about Tritoch, someone who didn't care about the town's wellbeing. Your father was that person." I reached for his hand, grasping his fingers in mine. "Where were you during all this?"

Leonard took a drink of his own. "Word got out that my father would bring the Imperials to Narshe. My brother had protection, but I had to split before the witch hunts began. I knew I'd get blamed for dad's back-stabbing, and hiding out with moogles wasn't an option, for they were too closely involved with the city's mining guild. I packed a few belongings and enough money for travel costs, and high-tailed it to South Figaro. There, my name was just another name among the populace. I rented a flat for a while, waiting it out. I could return home only once shit cooled off."

"It didn't really cool off." Locked helped himself to another ladle's worth of soup. "In fact, I'm sure you know where the Empire went next."

"Absolutely. When rumors spread that the Empire was headed for South Figaro, I packed up and fled once more, thinking dad marked me for the Imperials as 'a person to beware.' Maybe I was paranoid, but I wasn't risking it."

By now, we'd all finished the soup and waters. One server came and cleared the used cups and pot while another brought our meals, a T-bone steak for Celes, barbequed turkey for Locke, crab legs for Leonard, and breaded veal cutlets for me. We were provided clean mugs, and a bottle of cider was placed between us, the day's specialty beverage.

"So where'd you flee next?" Celes asked, pouring sauce over her T-bone.

Leonard grabbed a shell cracker and broke open a crab leg. "My options were few, so I took another gamble. Knowing the Imperials had no presence in Narshe by this time, I returned home, sneaking in through the east. There was a chance the town would be so fixated on the damage wrought by the first Imperial invasion, they'd overlook me, if I laid low. In different circumstances, I could've been right, but I had no such luck."

I sliced off a piece of veal. "Different circumstances? How so? Did something else come up?"

He squeezed lemon juice on a crab leg before prying out the meat. "Something did. A local councilman, not on dad's payroll, raised verbal objection to my father and the Braslinos. Many people started joining him, but he'd suffer for his outspoken opposition to Narshe's most powerful turncoat, as would his daughter." Leonard didn't continue immediately, instead pulling meat from the first crab leg. I couldn't blame him for stalling.

"You got blamed for something else you never did?" asked Locke while chomping on a turkey breast. "What was it this time?"

I did not expect him to drag it out. He'd been straight to the point so far. Sure enough, he cut no corners. "My brother Darum sexually assaulted the councilman's daughter, partly from being on a power trip, and partly to silence any voice that challenged my father's reign. He made an example, and no one dared raise their voice against my father afterward. Instead, they stalked me, blamed me for my brother's crime. I got death threats, and even if they were false, plenty of garbage was hurled my way. There was nothing left for me in town, so I bailed yet again."

"Shit." A half-chewed piece of meat flew from Celes's mouth, landing on the rim of her steak platter. "A _rape!_"

"Yeah, and he was untouchable, thanks to the soldiers in dad's wallet." Leonard betrayed no emotion as he broke another crab leg shell. "Lacking the pampered security of my brother, I became the perfect scapegoat, all for sharing the Gurosawn bloodline."

I poured myself a drink of cider. "And where did you go this time? Surely you didn't return to South Figaro."

"Not at all. I went into the mountains to the town's northeast, finding a group of social rejects who formed their own little village. They were drifters, drunks, half-sane scrounges from the streets, and basic undesirables frowned upon by society. To the general public, I was just that, and for all intents and purposes fit right in." He paused to scoop out crab meat using a pointed leg tip. "These outcasts had turned their backs on society, which worked in my favor, as they were not infected by the public's distrust of my name." With a deep breath he concluded. "And that is my tale."

And was quite a tale, one of persecution by otherwise decent people who lashed out against someone who wasn't all that different from themselves. As Leonard stated more than once, he was un-favored by his father, enduring child abuse and neglect when Julus Gurosawn felt like inflicting such. He too was a victim, but the victimized townspeople couldn't see past their bias and pain to realize this. Even in this post-Palazzo age, distrust and resentments against him still lingered. Arvis was but one sample of that.

"So you were in the mountains when the Imperials invaded a second time?" asked Locke while splashing gravy on a turkey leg.

"Yeah. I stayed there for quite a while, knowing I probably get lynched if I went back." Leonard placed empty leg shells in a corner of his plate. "Double jeopardy was a factor. Dad's victims hungered for my blood, and his followers were no less eager to dig my grave. Sometime later, word came out that Narshe wanted to fight the Imperials. I'm sure my father enacted some counter measure if he was the next target, but once the espers attacked the Imperial capital, the counter-Imperial sentiment faded. And shortly thereafter came the great collapse." He put on a mild smirk. "All the money in this world could not save dad and Darum from _that._"

"But your sister could still be out there." I spoke of his only family member whose death had not been ascertained, hoping to remind Leonard of our discussion at the Spethald campus.

"Your sister?" Celes put down her steak knife. She'd not been informed about her.

Leonard broke another leg shell. "She split from home nine years back, fed up with the oppressive 'protection' my father imposed on her. We actually got along, but it doesn't matter by this time. She might not be alive."

"Or she might be, and could presume you died," I pointed out, cutting into a veal chop. "You should try seeking her out, any way you can."

"I'd hope you would Leonard." Locke scraped meat off a leg bone. "Finding the only immediate family member you actually cared about should bring closure to that one loose end."

Maybe our conversation at Spethald invoked something in him. Leonard's answer was definitely on par with Locke's suggestion. "I've been considering such for a while. Dead or alive, something became of her. I'm getting more and more curious. One way or another, I want to know. I just don't know where or how to start. The world's still a big place."

Celes washed down the last bits of steak with a gulp of cider. "Start nearby, than branch out if you don't find anything of interest. I know you'll think of something Leonard. You've already proven yourself competent."

"That I have," agreed Leonard, breaking the last shell and giving Celes a very satisfied grin.

_change in n_

I returned Leonard's proud smile as Terra took his hand once more. Seeing this newly established couple sitting across from us was a prompt for me to grab Locke's hand in kind.

Terra had at last found her missing other half, and could really know what love was. On Leonard's end, he'd finally released those deep secrets he'd withheld for so long, and he could thank Terra for that.

It was obvious why she empathized with him so much, even when she'd barely met him. He'd been persecuted for the deeds of someone else. Though Terra was not responsible for her actions because of the slave crown, Leonard had no actions to excuse. He was blamed for his dad and brother's crimes, atrocities that he opposed with a vehement zeal. Like Terra, his voice fell on deaf ears, with few people he could trust.

But all that was behind him. This reveal was his final hurdle, and he leapt over it with resolve and conviction. "So, now that you're interested, you should begin searching, or at plan how you'll do it," I urged.

"Yes, when I can think of it. I have work obligations and the occasional blitz session." Leonard brushed his hand on Terra's cheek. "And let's not forget I've a special woman who needs attention from time to time." She grinned and finished her last veal chop.

The server cleared our table moments later, offering us desert. I was mostly full, but a small last course wouldn't hurt. Locke and I ordered a bowl of sherbet, something we could split. Terra asked for an apple pie slice and Leonard a caramel sundae with sprinkled nuts on top. As we started the lunch's final course, Leonard spoke up. "Oh. I almost forgot to mention this. I went back to the moogle caves and spoke with Mog. He claims Umaro's shaped up, and isn't whining anymore. Maybe the unease between them will blow over."

Locke spooned out a chunk of sherbet. "Really? The yeti's behaving now, so to speak, and Mog's mellowing out? Maybe we need not intervene."

"I can only hope for such." The Narshean licked caramel off his lips. "I find it rather odd that Umaro's changed so quick and so drastically, but I won't question Mog's experience. He's no longer abrasive."

"Did he know anything about that recent killing in the mines?" Terra asked.

"No," said Leonard. "The moogles didn't see anything. Neither did Umaro, whose cage was in close proximity to the body. Maybe he knows even less. But Mog didn't blame Umaro. He's still got a clear head."

There was nothing more to say after that, so we just polished off our deserts, splitting the tab four ways when the server came around with the bill. This double date concluded successfully, with two couples leaving Ghearn's Coop hand-in-hand. Leonard had shared his past in full, clearing his closet of the memories that haunted him for years. He and Terra were officially an item now, their deepest secrets no longer hidden from one another.

_change in s & n_

One of Sindreo Geminsa's infamous naval ships was heading for Lenshelgh's harbor. Its onboard troops were in for a surprise.

During our undercover work in Tzen, our companions back in Albrook were establishing a presence in the abandoned port town of Lenshelgh, in case the Duke sent his legions that way. He was doing just that, taking our bait.

We'd cleaned Lenshelgh up considerably, though it didn't look brand-spanking new. If the city was too clean, it would immediately stand out as suspicious. The Duke was mentally deficient in many regards, but when it came to battle tactics, he was at his most intelligent. His worshippers wouldn't head into an ambush if they suspected one. After all, he and his followers orchestrated the surprise attack that cost Tzen's army a dear price at Fort Nolbierros. The Duke wasn't a man to fall for his own tactics.

Lenshelgh was a functional garrison, but it still looked unkempt and neglected enough to blend in. Our 'brigands from the east' tale would lead the Duke's forces here, where they presumed a mere bandit gang had set up hideouts in the forsaken port town. We'd greet them, proving ourselves more than a lowly street gang. The more they underestimated our true stature, the more efficiently we'd kill them off.

The Duke's forces were less numerous than the armies of the late House Virnone, and his following was newer. Instead of going into his domain and attacking his turf after weakening his forces internally, we'd lure his minions into our territory and ambush them as they came. For now at least, that was the plan. It would change if he caught on.

Our numbers were positioned amid the docks and storehouses of the harbor, waiting with much anticipation for the Marandan visitors. Crates, metallic drums, and piles of scrape wood and sheet metal were strewn about, concealing our troops and creations while providing the 'unclean' vide one would expect from a supposed ghost town.

"Where the enemy?" asked Chithagu in raspy whisper.

"They'll be here soon." I stroked his head. "The longer we wait, the more prepared we'll be for them."

"At least we get to spill blood and sink enemy boats," gloated Qaurjaeda. "Our mission is straightforward. Morris has the tricky part."

"Tricky for you, since you're not exactly proficient at blending in with a crowd," I joked, noting the Grav-wielder's extra legs, pointed horns, and discolored skin. He'd never win a beauty contest. "But Morris excels at such."

"What's going on with him?" The Grav-wielder peered through a couple scrap metal sheets. "I know Ruqojjen left Albrook in small air vessel, and his departure was connected with Morris's objectives, but nothing else."

"The two will have a clandestine meet, where Ruqojjen will provide Morris the proper tools for the job. Morris will do his thing, and report back his progress. Once he's done, Ruqojjen will return, and Morris will go about his next task." I explained further details of Morris's objective.

Qaurjaeda flashed a toothy smirk. "Perfect. People like that are too much of a liability, a dangerous loose cannon. We can't have deceivers roaming about, particularly ones like that."

A noise was coming closer, the sound of bare limbs slapping the hard stone floor of the dock. None other than Uletarsji approached. "Word from the Captain. We've visuals on the enemy ship. Orders are to stand by."

"Since when do you follow orders properly?" Qaurjaeda frowned. "Your reckless lust for personal vengeance almost fucked everything up not long ago."

Uletarsji waved an arm. "That was then. This is now. I'm here by the orders of High Shenthaxa Kagasjori, and so far I've not gotten complains from the commanders. I'm doing the job without fault." His voice carried an arrogant I-told-you-so vibe.

"Just be sure to keep that up." Qaurjaeda tightened his fist. "I have orders to break your ass to pieces if you deviate from any parameters placed upon you."

"Break me?" Uletarsji contorted his entire form. "I can bend like the wind, what with having no solid bone structure."

"In my gravity wells, even rubber becomes rigid, crushing itself under its own magnified weight." The Grav-wielder's Pirusymn stone flashed once.

Uletarsji said nothing. He was a being with great augmentations, but when compared to Qaurjaeda the Grav-wielder, he knew he'd come up miserably short in every category. He wasn't that stupid.

We sat tight for minutes afterward, concealed among the improvised garbage heaps. The Marandan ship soon appeared, steam billowing from its tower smoke stack, leaving puffy miniature clouds in the skies behind. Though it was in range, we did nothing yet.

The boat cut off the steam emission. Just as we predicted, a ramp creaked down from the ships broadside. A line of troops filed down and out of the parked vessel, armed with shields, bow-guns, melee arms, and the like. Mechanical stomping followed the infantry, combat armor units boasting their own mortars. I presumed these artillery samples would be taken out first.

At last, the filing was complete. Roughly 700 men and women roamed the harbor before us, looking for the 'brigands' who slaughtered Major Gail Ardevina in mockery of the Duke's rule. They wanted badly to meet us, but we weren't so eager to initiate the welcoming party. That would only happen once the enemy had positioned themselves right.

And they did just that moments later. Our Commander of this op kicked off the ambush with a nail bomb thrown at one of the walking mortar units. The deceased Corporal's favorite IED was now a favorite of our ambush tactics. The explosion destroyed the artillery piece and several foot troops in the vicinity. More Nyufalng offense rained down upon the minions of Duke Sindreo, shooting out from all angles amid the rubble heaps. Creations were hard at work using their own lightning bolts and exploding projectiles. Chithagu hurled his own tumor bombs into the enemy crowd. Well-aimed arrow and rifle slugs took down those who evaded the shrapnel and organic weapons. Armor walkers crumbled and burned as entire squads fell dead by the second. I aimed my bow-gun and hit a man in the nose.

They never knew what hit them. It was just like the battle in the Kavaryts Basin against the Tzenish Brigade, except this enemy was smaller and less prepared. They were seeking a lowly bandit gang, not braced for an offensive against a more established army of equal stature. Qaurjaeda tossed a steel girder at the last armor unit, which was struggling to aim its cannon at one of many concealed assailants. The beam stabbed the walker's pilot, and the machine tumbled forward, inert.

Less than a minute passed and the surviving Marandans were beating a hasty withdrawal. We turned our efforts on the ship at that point. Just like the Kavaryts Basin offensive, we wanted no enemy survivors. What better way to keep Sindreo guessing about the enemy he was up against? Our secrecy would not last much longer, so we weren't about to give at away for free.

Explosions rocked the ship as it lifted its ramps and started pulling out of the harbor. "All right," gloated Uletarsji. "It's show time, with orders to kill." He leapt from cover and joined his companion Chiupangow. The duo flew after the retreating ship, with Uletarsji leaping into the water as they closed the distance. Most of the enemy lay dead on the harbor. Those who'd survived with injuries were being neutralized, as our numbers were stepping out to complete the job soundly. I spared one last glance at the Marandan ship, which appeared to be sinking. Uletarsji was doing something right. Our mission here was a success, and I had no doubts that Morris would produce identical results with his various objectives.

_change in s & n_

"Nothing like a nice soothing cup of hot chocolate before bed," I mused to myself. I drank the steaming sweet beverage, reflecting on the last few of days.

I'd finally done it. My past was no loner a mystery to Terra and her friends. Mog and Edgar weren't the only Returners to know who my father was, and what my father did. And to think, barely half a year ago I considered such deep personal secrets best left unspoken. Of course, back then I didn't think I could stand equal with Terra. Technically, I still didn't, but she never saw me as inferior to herself or those in others in her circle.

It was official. Terra Branford was my romantic interest, as I was hers. Spreading this was inevitable. I informed Relm and Sabin about the double date at my last blitz session, where I trained with the young ninja, deflecting her throwing weapons. I wasn't up for repeating my story, but I'd given Terra permission to discuss it with the rest of her group. Surely the green-haired woman had updated them by now. It wasn't really underground knowledge that my father sold out Narshe to the Imperials.

I also bid Joe a small farewell. He stopped by the dojo during the lesson, with news that he was headed to South Figaro for a vacation. I'd not been there for over three years, so much had likely changed in that time. He was probably there by now.

I swallowed the last gulp. Another subject was going through my mind since the double date at Ghearn's. My sister's whereabouts had been a mystery for almost a decade. But I could solve that puzzle. What reason did I have to let it remain forgotten? She was the only close family member I actually cared about. With an alcoholic mother, a corrupted, back-stabbing father, and an older brother who sexually assaulted the children of dad's opponents to retain family invincibility, a person like my sister was quite important. I realized that as of recent. Just think about her in answering Terra's questions awakened my mind to this fact.

Maybe I could begin searching for her very soon. It would be no menial task. But I had the Returners at my side, the very people who urged me to do it. Perhaps when Edgar was finished re-plumbing the capital, he'd have a little extra time to aide me in my efforts.

My twenty-four-and-a half year life had never been this pleasant. I'd never been so excited about my own future.

Having finished the chocolate, I placed the mug in the sink and headed for the stairs. A loud noise came from outside, probably the neighbors moving stuff around in their backyard, none of my business.

In the upstairs bathroom I brushed my teeth and washed my face. I was ready for bed when the crashing noises came once more, closer and louder, as if they were right outside my house, on the side where I kept the trash cans. Now it was my business.

Someone or something was trespassing on my property. My telegraph machine was on a desk in my bedroom, but what good was there in using it. I could report the suspicious noises, but when the guard patrols learned I was the complaining party, they'd blow it off. I was still the 'betrayer's offspring', acceptance amid Returners or otherwise. Local peacekeepers would think I'd caused the disturbance and reported my own prank in attempts to disprove suspicions. I was on my own.

I rushed into my bedroom, but instead of disrobing and hitting the sack, I pulled on some shoes and grabbed my rifle-axe. For extra presence, I grabbed a flashlight.

The banging continued as I went to the back door, sliding it open and turning on the back porch lights. Sure enough, the racket was coming from around the corner of the house, where the garbage cans were. My backyard was well lit, but the illumination didn't reach around to the trash corner. The noises continued, even though the light announced my presence. A typical night prowler would've spilt by this time.

I shouldered the rifle-axe, prepared for confrontation. "Piss off motherfucker!" My voice resonated irately. "I know you're there." A different noise, rustling, answered back, and answered a second time moments later.

My jaw tensed up. The lights and my furious voice hadn't spooked away the intruding…person or thing, despite making my presence clear. I slowly crept to the house corner. Whatever was beyond continued rustling the garbage bag.

Suddenly, as I wasn't but five paces from the corner, something dashed from around the building and across my back lawn. It looked small and scruffy. A scratching noise at the back fence followed this display. Clicking on my flashlight, I found a chubby raccoon standing atop the fence. It stared me down, its small eyes reflecting the lights nearby. Then it turned, wagged its ringed tail, and leapt off, disappearing into the forested night beyond.

Here in the outskirts of Narshe, raccoons weren't uncommon. With the forest just beyond my back fence and the Lete River a mile or so out, scavengers naturally came to backyards seeking food, especially at night. Satisfied, I clicked off the flashlight, content that I'd scared off the garbage thief.

Or had I?

Critical observations flooded my mind in the next second. Did I really spook the raccoon? It dashed off before I rounded the house corner, before it saw me. Even if it knew of my approaching presence, it would've run towards the side gate, _away_ from my voice. Instead, it ran _toward_ me. And it jumped off the fence when we finally made eye contact, even though I did not give chase.

What if the animal was…

Something stuck the side of my neck, something hard and sharp. It wasn't very thick, but it was long and rigid enough to cause more than discomfort. I snarled as the pain came in full, but then it faded. Before I could ask what or why, the details of my backyard fence blurred into one another. My legs buckled, and the sounds of my flashlight and rifle-axe thudding against the cobblestone of the back patio filled my ears. I could feel my hands and side flopping onto the stone floor panels, and could still see the bright lighting of my back porch lamp. But even that faded into a void of blackness, and the ground beneath me also lost its sensation of being there. I tried to speak, but only a whisper escape my open mouth, something only I could hear. It trailed off into distorted echoes as my auditory sense gave out.

_change in s & n_

The Chancellor leaned close to my ear. "A wise choice King Edgar, but be mindful. Even if word of your generosity stays hidden, paying too much out of your pocket might nonetheless become public knowledge."

I stirred my tea before addressing Pierre. "Wise words Chancellor. I've set a limit on how much I'll donate to the taxation. The people still have to pay for most of the expenses. I've not lowered any tax charges."

Pierre finished his biscuit. "A practical man you are, my Liege. I will take leave and meet with Minister Larsone and your wife to inspect the latest tax bills. The back pay amount should level off, unless it's gradually decreasing." Pierre stood from the dining hall table, bowed, and left the room.

I didn't have my lunch in solitude however. At my other side was Deanne Sarholme. The Lieutenant offered me some compiled records from the previous days. "My apologies Your Highness. Our search of the northern mountains uncovered nothing." Her shoulders sagged in defeat. Though it wasn't her fault in the least, the woman was no less ashamed that the military's latest monster hunt proved wasteful.

"Don't blame yourself." I cut into my roasted quail. "You did what I asked, and that was to conduct a thorough search." After swallowing, I observed the documents. The lack of results was not too surprising. I'd been considering a new angle since dispatching the recon teams into the forested mountains to the north. It was time to share it. "I've been wondering. Maybe the monsters knew we were coming, and cleared out before the team reached their position. And that's assuming the monsters were living nearby."

Deanne bit into a toasted bread roll. "You think these monsters are situated elsewhere?"

"Why not? They weren't native to the Shedairah mines or the caves within Narshe's limits." I elaborated with more defined examples. "After Ultros and Chupon crippled the Falcon, they fled to parts unknown, just as they did after vanishing from the coliseum. More so, the giant leech that destroyed the research laboratory washed up on the beach. It could've come from anywhere."

The Lieutenant's face brightened, as I figured she's lighten up. My new theory granted a little more optimism. "So these monsters are coming from afar to attack Figaroan assets?"

I swallowed some tea. "It makes sense. We've established these new beasts to have intelligence comparable to humans. If you're going to attack a particular nation more than once, are you going to reside within it, knowing full well that local searches will follow your actions shortly afterward? Or would you set up your base of operations in someplace far removed from local authorities?"

"That really holds water," Deanne agreed. "But it's just a theory. Even if we've no proof they originated in your domain, we can't prove they didn't. And that's before the inevitable question; if they came from afar, where is that? Colonel Frennard and I contacted various other towns outside this nation, and none have experience monster-related incidents."

I cut some white meat off the bone. "They've had no incidents, but that doesn't mean the monsters aren't nearby. Those other places aren't searching for any new beasts, so nesting around one of them would be perfect. They migrate here to attack, then migrate back to someplace that's oblivious to them."

Deanne wiped crumbs from her mouth, the last chunks of her bread piece. "So what next? Where do we start looking for them?"

"I'll meet with my advisors and General Garamonde to discuss this matter." My quail and tea were finished. A maid came around and cleared the table. "In the meantime, continue training with Zeigfried in weapon-based spirit techniques."

"Aye, Your Majesty." Deanne stood up, revealing her melee weapon of choice, a small sword with a jagged edge. "I've discovered various new means of using this."

"I can imagine that, what with my own interest in the Dragoon arts. I'll brief you when updates came. Lieutenant, you are dismissed." Deanne left my company.

The plumbing project was nearing its completion. Three quarters of it had been completed by now, slower than I'd hoped, but progress was still progress. Once the new pipelines were set, the only task on my hands would be this monster problem. And my new theory might take that matter in a whole new direction. The creatures remained evasive because I'd searched too near and narrow. All my reconnaissance efforts had been centered locally. The time had come to branch out. The lack of results in the search up north confirmed this.

I stood and left the dining room, en route for the study. In the courtyard, a voice called my name. "King Edgar!"

A man dressed in overalls and a straw hat ran up. He looked distraught.

"Good day Sir." I offered him a smile, but it vanished immediately. His face and voice carried a major ambiance of concern and worry. I shared it, despite not knowing the cause. "What's wrong?"

The man caught his breath. "It's about the man you once referred to the dairy farm a few months back." He meant Leonard. "One day was bad enough, but this is the second day it's happened." Panic was creeping into his voice.

I put my hand on his shoulder. "What about him? Second day for what?"

He cleared his throat and took deep breaths. His rate of speaking slowed down but his tone was definitely not relaxed. "He didn't report to work yesterday, and we received no letter or telegraph message explaining his absence. On his last work day, he gave no notice of requiring leave, and telegraphs to his place have not been answered. Now it's the second day in a row he's been out. Something is wrong."

_change in s & n_

Hundreds of clangs rang out as steel met steel in the vast training chamber near Albrook's palace.

The ambush at Lenshelgh was a total success in of itself, but the Duke wasn't going to repeat his fuck up. Knowing someone other than his own followers took down House Virnone and that his entire strike force investigating bandits in Lenshelgh was killed off, he was ordering the inevitable, inspecting the one place he'd ignored up to this point.

His minions were heading straight for Albrook now, 12,000 strong. Our complete secrecy was out. But we'd still pack surprises.

The training chamber was filled with drills and exercises, Nyufalng troops practicing both ranged and hand-to-hand techniques. Ruqojjen and I passed a group led by a Sergeant, who showed grunts how to take out a foe with superior weaponry. He was using a shield and dagger against an armored grunt with a spear. The private was disarmed, and the sergeant explained why this happened. As the private stood for another try, we found a second group involved in javelin tossing.

The group was divided in two, with one side throwing the mini-spears while the other side would attempted catching and hurling the weapons back. A bearded, husky man oversaw this drill. "Greetings Lieutenant." Ruqojjen addressed the officer in charge of the exercise.

"Ah, High Shenthaxa. Impeccable timing." The Lieutenant folded his arms and observed his pupils. "The trainees are doing well. The little…gift provided earlier has definitely enhanced their raw combat skills."

"Really. Let's check it out." Ruqojjen's stoic voice carried no trace of the enthusiasm that marked his words.

The Lieutenant blew a whistle hanging on his neck chain. The trainees immediately stopped their drill. "Listen up. The man is here to watch you folks personally. Show him what you can do. I'll call you one by one." He pointed to a brow-haired man of maybe twenty-five years. "You're up first."

Unlike the High Shenthaxa, the recruit need not keep a stale face. His eyes beamed with enthusiasm.

"Go long!" instructed the Nyufalng leader, pointing to the end of a gap formed by the two lines of trainees. The youth stepped back all the way. The Lieutenant gathered the javelins, offering them to the chief. With a small spear in each hand, Ruqojjen faced the young soldier. "On my word…CHARGE."

The young man broke into a sprint for our position. As his feet took those first few steps, the Shenthaxa pushed out with both javelins from shoulder level. The two mini pikes rocketed forth, their speed practically equal to the sprinting private. The youth's physical speed was definitely more than human.

The spears closed in on the private, who raised his hands. In a blink, both javelins were firmly in his grasp. "Good work," Ruqojjen announced. "Now toss them back."

The young man resumed his charge, throwing the javelins at the High Shenthaxa. The ever-skilled Nyufalng chief reached out and caught both in one hand, holding them between fingers. As the young man charged closer, Ruqojjen threw the spears again.

This time, the youth could only catch one. The second javelin slammed into his armored chest plate. His new reflexes weren't totally flawless, but he'd demonstrated proficient use of what was granted to him.

The special catch's 'donation' was proving its worth. Against the Duke's land army, it would prove vital.

We commended the young soldier as another man stepped up to prove his talents. His performance was much like the previous one, imperfect but quite impressive. Practice would make perfection. The rest of those who volunteered their skills displayed similar progress. We left the Lieutenant and his pupils to their exercise.

As we observed other training practices, I asked what I'd been thinking about for a while. "Since you're not preoccupied for the moment, how'd your meeting go with Morris?"

Despite his cold eyes, a minimalistic smile curved upward on the Shenthaxa's lips. His answer told me everything I wished to know, and I produced a smile of my own.

All throughout the chamber, low-ranking recruits were showing impressive combat prowess. Throwing weapons were caught and tossed back to their point of origin, bow-guns were fired with precise accuracy at moving targets, and a few privates even managed to disarm lower ranking officers on sparse occasions. We'd introduce ourselves to the Duke's army in short order, and they'd kiss their asses good-bye when the time came.

I was about to consider joining one of these drills when a soldier approached us.

_change in s & n_

The image was fleeting, but it was all I could grasp. The obese raccoon jumping my fence and scurrying into the woods replayed over and over again, getting more blurry and distorted each time. The sting in my neck periodically flared up, only to die out seconds later.

The cold rigid surface of stone remained constant however, even as the fleeing raccoon repeated itself into a shapeless blob of gray nothing, which itself faded into the surrounding black void.

A grunt escaped my throat, echoing for a moment before dying out. I could hear and feel, even if what I saw was a mere illusion. I groaned again, and this time there was less reverberation. As my ears adjusted, I could feel my back. Hard stone was below me and behind me, as though I were sitting against the wall of my house. I could feel my own breathing now. And the sensations in my hands and feet returned.

All my senses were awake now, except for my vision. I forced open my eyes to remove the blackness, expecting to see my backyard.

But the dark void remained. My pulse intensified. Had I lost my vision when blacking out? How did that happen? I could feel my eyes blink, but my vision did not change one bit. I sat up from my hunched state. Only then did I realize I wasn't blind.

It was nothing spectacular, just a small, illuminated horizontal line of gray in the black void. It would vanish when I blinked, and reappear when I opened my eyes. I sighed momentarily. My vision was still my own, but that changed nothing about what I saw. I'd seen many such lines, and knew how they came to be. They were created when light seeped into a dark room beneath a closed door.

Now the question hit me; where was I? And how'd I get here? "Hey!" I called out inadvertently. "Hello!"

I tried standing up, and felt the cold masonry floor against my feet. My boots! They were gone. I reached down and felt my socks. I could feel my pants and shirt, but my pockets were empty. With panic setting in, I did the only thing possible and walked to the closed door ahead.

Something snagged my ankles the after two paces, if that. I almost fell over. Squatting, I felt around. A stiff metallic object encircled my ankles, and similar objects hung upon my wrists. I pulled, and heard the noise of metal against the stone. It wasn't a single object clanking about, but a several objects bouncing against the stone, and each other.

It didn't take immeasurable smarts to decipher this meaning. These were chains. I used many before in my life, and knew the sound they made when their links clunked against each other. There were chained shackled around my hands and feet. I couldn't bring my feet together, and could just barely fold my hands. Feeling around some more, I discovered the chains led off in opposite directions.

I flailed about, despite knowing how useless it was to struggle. Or was it? Certainly a blitz would break these chains. I settled down, believing I could reach the door if I focused my energy into a technique that could shatter my restraints.

No such luck. The harder I tried, the worse I felt. Dizziness and fatigue engulfed my concentration. My knees gave way and I collapsed onto the literally stone cold floor. The feint line blurred. I could not lose it, could not lose my only point of navigation in this lightless, heatless void. Writing off a blitz, I played my only option.

"Who's there?" I shouted with more energy than I felt. My throat started aching, and repeated questions filled my panicked thoughts? Where was I? How did I get here? Why was I in this place…whatever it was? "Hello? Somebody? Anybody?"

As my voice rang out, I caught very little echo. That meant I was in a small room. This offered no comfort however. I tried again. "I'm in here. Is anyone there?" I thought I heard something beyond the closed door, and maybe I saw moving shadows in the line of illumination. But maybe I saw nothing but my hopes. "Is someone there?"

I tried again, and again after that. But nothing changed. My voice gave out and my chest ached after a while. I slumped over, hyperventilating. There was nothing to see, and little to hear aside from my own shouts and breathing. Everything was vague, and I started to wonder if this was merely a long, lucid bad dream. But somehow, I knew deep down that scenario was merely a blind hope. I could feel burning sensations in my throat and lungs, and the cold stone floor and metal cuffs were too pronounced to be imaginary. This was real.

Confused, panicked, and light-headed, I did little more than slouch against the stone wall. Maybe I'd drift back into an unconscious state. I could've gone in and out of consciousness without realizing it.

I didn't know how much time had passed, or whether I was conscious or not, but a new sound filled the room, a rattling noise. Was it possible? Door locks made such a noise upon being released. Had my voice finally been heard?

The door opened and light flooded the mystery room. I had to close my eyes and shield my face. Even then, I could still make out an illuminated gray. Extremely bright lights were pouring in, or my eyes were just not used to that much brilliance. How long had I been out of it?

I slowly opened my eyes. The piercing whiteness remained, but not as a void. Dark silhouettes moved around, at least five according to my count, blurry figures of various shapes and sizes.

_People._

I was not alone anymore, and my reaction to this find was uncontrollable. "Get me out of here!" I flailed my hands about, as much as the shackles allowed. The metal chains clicked against the stone floor.

The silhouettes took on a little more definition, but none of them moved. Instead, laughter broke out.

My shackles remained as they were. Maybe this company wouldn't be such a welcome change. I resisted the urge to speak again, and just eyed these dark forms in the white glow.

"Hello Leonard Gurosawn," came a male voice from the center of the group, a voice that was stern, yet calm and rather menacing because of it. Just as I predicted, there were no friendly vibes in this tone.

I tried adjusting my eyes to grasp more details, but the white glow framed these persons as thought a light was being shined upon me from behind them. Like I wasn't feeling vulnerable as it was. They could see me, and they obviously knew my name, but everything about them was lost on me. "Who…who are you?" I had nothing to lose by asking, though I doubted a real answer was on their agenda.

I was right. Snickering laughter rang out. The unwelcoming voice replied back with, "Someone who doesn't like you very much."

That was obvious. Surely they knew my awareness of such, even if they mocked my intelligence. This was a game to them…whoever they were. And I was forced to play at an extreme disadvantage.

I'd gotten one vague answer so far. I had to keep this up, as there was no other alternative. "What do you want from me?"

"You're a fucking idiot," snorted another voice from elsewhere in the room, a voice rougher and less refined then the previous one.

Footsteps advanced upon me. Sitting against the wall, I had no room to scurry back, and could only sit still as one of the darkened figures approached, standing over me. The first voice spoke again, obviously belonging to the person bearing down upon me. "What else would a person want from the child of Narshe's most infamous war profiteer?"

Repeats were unnecessary. The cycle had started up yet again, but now with greater fury. People like Arvis and the woman at the train station berated me on sight, but never had I experienced this, even when my father was alive. At worst, I'd been driven out of Narshe, but I'd never been withheld by chains in a dark room of some unknown location.

After all this time, the grudges against my father not only remained, they'd grown tenfold. I grasped the sequence of event I'd missed. Some bunch of locals against my father had captured me and brought me here.

My energy was coming back now, with a fury of its own. My sore chest and throat were afterthoughts as rage seethed through my veins. The blame game wasn't enough for the Narshean public. Now they indulged in kidnapping to ease their resentments against my old man, a person whose actions were beyond my control. And I'd so recently found peace by sharing my past with Terra and the others, only to experience persecution of a whole new level. I took a deep breath and gathered all my energy into a long-overdue response to this mindset. There would be no excuses and no tolerance.

"FUCK YOU!" My words filled the room. "I am NOT my father, and I never wanted him to betray this town. I never even asked to be his child. It's not my fault. I hated that cocksucker." I let loose with a vengeance. My rush spent, I felt the aches come back in my chest.

My reward for this outburst; more snickering. My voice was unheard yet again. The man bearing down upon me elaborated. "So you did? Does that make you any different?"

"Yes," I coughed back. "I'm not like him in any way."

A third voice sounded off, a gruff gravelly voice that matched my rugged coughing. "Talk is cheap you half-assed sack of shit. We're not so gullible as to swallow your words at face value."

My appeal was futile, though it came as no surprise. When had anyone from the Narshean public believed my words? "What have I done to prove myself like him?" I asked, trying to control my rage. I wouldn't let these people know they'd struck a nerve, even if they did just that. "You have nothing on me."

One of the shadows moved. A woman's voice followed. "And thanks to us, you'll do nothing. We'll stop whatever you're planning before if starts." Her voiced was marked with a calm arrogance, yet another slap in my face.

This battle was last, before it even started. Admitting defeat was the only practical option.

A boot stomped down before me. The man with the clear voice spoke once more. "You claim to hate your father, but your inaction proved otherwise. You did nothing to stop him from selling Narshe out to the Empire. Surely you knew about his plans, but you let him carry them out, right under your nose."

Was this a test of my personality, or just a means to extend this sadistic mind game? Neither alternative was pleasant. I just answered how I could. "What the fuck was I supposed to do?"

Despite all that transpired just now, nothing prepared me for what came next. The man upfront did the honors. "The punishment for treason like that is death. You lived with your father day in and day out, and it never crossed your mind that you could slash his throat as he slept, or spike his beverage with rat poison? If treachery isn't running deep in the Gurosawn bloodline, idiocy takes its place."

Was this for real? Perhaps my senses were still under, and I'd not heard those words correctly. "Kill my father?" I stammered.

One more reverie of wishful thinking was shot to hell. "Yes. If you killed him, so mach tragedy would've been averted." The male voice spoke again. Rigid fingers tightened on my throat. "But no, you had to follow the popular path, out of fear of losing your perceived goodness. And look at everything that followed afterward."

The full scale of these people was manifest. If they kidnapped me for being the son of Julus Gurosawn, they'd inevitable degrade me for not killing him in a vigilante murder. I wasn't dealing with any average group of townspeople.

Futile as it was now, I still argued my point, if only to prove to do something, anything. "I'm different than him," I snapped, uncaring if I revealed my disgust. "Killing him like that would've been an act of vigilante mayhem. I believe in a proper justice system with due process."

The grip on my neck pulled me forward. Then I was pushed against the wall with force. My shoulder now ached from this impact. "Your father owned the Narshean system." The strange man continued his unfeeling diatribe. "Surely you knew this, unless you really _are_ that stupid." His form stepped back. "But in any case you really are different than him. You are _worse_, for you embrace a hypocrisy that he did not. You call yourself morally righteous, but you're only a coward, excusing your fears behind a mask of obedience."

The second male voice, moderately gruff, laughed aloud. "Let's call you the Narshe Coward, since you're too stupid to deserve an actual given name."

"I'm civilized!" I yelled back, knowing how pointless it was. They wouldn't listen. This was the defeat of defeats, an agonizing loss to an unknown enemy who knew so much about my personal past. Hopeless though it was, I kept sneering. "I'm not a vigilante…"

Another silhouette rushed to my person. A large hand slammed upon my lips, cutting off my rant. Even as the back of my head was pushed against the unforgiving stone wall, the palm continued pressing down. Warm blood seeped through my clenched teeth, sprinkling my tongue. "Can we shut this pecker up?" growled the third male voice, the most gruff one present. "He's starting to annoy me."

"Really?" asked a different male voice in a suave, slightly nasal tone. "I think his attempts to justify his cowardice are so feeble and pathetic, they're downright humorous. I can just see the promo ad. Hear ye hear ye! Come watch the Narshe Coward deliver the laughs." The condescending man chuckled. "Ever thought about stand-up comedy, Narshe Coward?"

For one reason or another, the large hand upon my lips moved away. Before it could clamp down again, I unleashed another spiteful yet ultimately useless retort. "I'm not your fucking court jester!" Blood spilled off my lips.

The nasal voice got more kicks out of my display. "Oh, did someone step on your prosthetic testicle?" This time I held my tongue. I wouldn't provide them with any more free entertainment.

"You should know why you're here, by now," declared the first voice. "But if you don't, wallow in your stupidity. We've proven our point. Fuck him if he doesn't get it. Let us be off."

Footsteps sounded as the shadowed figures vanished amid the white ambiance, leaving the room. When the last one remained, that snorting obscene voice concluded their presence with, "Bye-bye, Narshe Coward."

"Fuck you!" It was the last spark of defiance left within me, before the bleeding lips, shoulder pains, and general dizziness overcame what little stamina I had left. The white void faded to the blackness as the door was closed, the rattling locks securing it tight, all beyond my reach. "Fuck you," I mumbled weakly, slouching over in dark solitude once more.


	32. Core of the Abyss

**Chapter 32: Core of the Abyss**

"Thanks for coming Celes." Terra swung her Scimitar about.

"Not a problem." I gripped my Strato in a less flashy manner. "Locke's managing the shop again, so I can have a day in the big town, and a chance to observe your swordplay for myself."

The dojo chamber was empty, save for Sabin, Terra, and I. We had plenty of sparring room. On Sabin's word, we stepped up to one another. I rushed Terra with a downward chop. Instead of parrying, she darted sideways. I raised my sword to block her counter slash, but even as the weapons collided, she was already moving, with my strike's momentum. She spun, and instinctively stepped back as the Scimitar chopped sideways, nearly completing a full circle.

We gauged each other once more, before Terra rushed me, Scimitar slashing back and fourth at neck level. The weapon itself was a blur, but I could see the cuts went side-to-side without any vertical motion. As Terra closed the distance, I dropped into a kneel and swung at her plated boots.

Before my blade could make any contact, she was in the air, and the Scimitar's point was coming down. With no time to stand, I rolled from my crouching state, standing afterward. I raised my sword to counter Terra's missed diving thrust, but she recovered before her feet touched the ground. The Scimitar's edge bashed into the Strato, sparks exploding on contact.

I leaned forward, as I had a slight size advantage over Terra. Her response was to use my motion against me once more, throwing me off balance. I regained my footing and made a straight pass, only for Terra to shuffle back, beyond the Strato's reach. She leapt up, this time cutting horizontally at differing levels. Three slashes cleaved the air before she came down. Instead of striking at the moment she landed, I waited a split second, beyond her reach. She swung upwards, anticipating an immediate counter on my behalf. Since I hesitated while she attacked, I followed up with another poke, halting inches from her breast pate.

"Very good." Sabin walked up and gave the break signal.

"You have a thing for areal attacks," I said while pulling off my armored mask. "I'll admit, they require agility skill, but such dramatic maneuvers are quite high-risk and leave you open."

"Style can still have substance." Terra removed her own mask. "I was able to defend most of your counterstrikes perfectly, and sometimes, what's unexpected is the best approach. Play mind games with the enemy if the need arises."

We sat down and had a few drink of Relm's special lemonade. Sabin kept bottles of it in the dojo fridge. We took up our swords again for the next round, when a knocking noise filled the training room. "Just a moment." Sabin hurried over to the closed doors. "What's up Bro?"

Sabin smiled as Edgar walked in, but the King of Figaro didn't wear such a vibrant face. Grinning back was his usual reaction. Was something wrong? Edgar acknowledged us when Sabin closed the door. "Hello all. I have some bad news."

"W-what?" Sabin's jaw dropped, his expression imitating my thoughts. This explained Edgar's somber look. This wasn't something trivial.

Edgar took a deep breath. "The other day, an overseer from the dairy farm where Leonard works, came to the castle personally. He said Leonard missed work for two days straight without explanation. He's not made contact since, and telegraphs to his place have been unanswered. It's not like Leonard to miss work of his own volition. Something happened."

Terra's blade clunked to the ground. "N-no…you mean he's…" she trailed off absently. I sheathed my weapon and was at her side, bracing the woman if her legs gave way.

"He's missing." Edgar spelled out those dreaded words. "I can only suspect foul play is involved."

I helped Terra over to the seat along the wall. "Someone has it out for him that badly? I was afraid of this." Her thoughts echoed mine. Having learned the Narshean's deep secret last week on our double date, I understood all too well her implications.

Sabin was informed, just as Locke and I. "His father sold Narshe out to the Imperials, sharing Tritoch for a wealthy sum." The martial arts master scratched his chin. "The whole town's got a grudge, and they've not let it go since."

"That's a major factor in this problem," Edgar sighed. "We have no proof of anything malicious, but with a reputation like that, I can't conclude anything else. But that leaves the question; where do we begin? The suspects could be just about anyone in the mining town."

"He had no reason to drop from sight." Terra's voice was quivering. "Not quite a week ago, we all had lunch together, and he finally told us his dark secret. It was so relieving for him to get that off his back. And just when he finds that release…" She didn't finish, and simply breathed in ragged gasps. I thought her eyes would water, but she held that back…for now.

"You suspect kidnapping?" I asked. Edgar implied that so far.

"Very possible, unless he's sick and not answering his telegraphs. But that seems unlikely. Putting out a missing persons report for Leonard Gurosawn would be futile. I'm sure the general public would be thrilled to know he's met with foul play. "Edgar paced about. "I can just picture the smiles and hear the joyous cheers. People like Arvis would be the first to celebrate, sad as it may be."

"Has anyone checked his house?" asked Sabin, trying to keep an optimistic vibe. "Surely that's a given. Maybe that will yield an answer."

"That's another problem," admitted the King. "I don't know where her lives. He collects payment at the farm in person, and I only know of his telegraph contact code. I can't trace his location with it."

"He's implied living in southeast Narshe." Terra's voice was more collected this time. "That's a start…isn't it?"

Edgar shook his head. "A start, but it's not enough. Southeast Narshe is still a major part of the whole town."

Sabin took a seat next to Terra. "A pity no Returners are familiar with his address."

Terra's eyes flashed with energy. "Mog!" she called out. "Mog might know. They go back some years, remember?"

"I did hear something alone those lines." I folded my arms, hoping this might lead to something more positive.

Sabin clutched Terra's hand. "If that's the case, you should pay Mog another visit. You live in Narshe, so it's more convenient for you." His words carried hints of encouragement.

"Yes, I'll do that tomorrow. I hope Mog's available." Terra stood up slowly. "But if not, I'll have to try again. We can't let this go."

"Yes, see Mog. As you know, my hands are tied here, with plumbing taxations and military business." Edgar's hand was on Terra's shoulder. "If you find something, update me. I've others matters, as you know. Take care." With that, he departed our company, the dojo doors swinging shut after him.

Terra staggered, as though still ingesting the news. "Why? Why is it that, just when Leonard opens up to clear his mind, someone else decides that stalking and berating him isn't enough? Now they must hold him captive, like that's going to change the past, a past that's not even his doing." She slapped the dojo wall. "Damn their fucking prejudice!"

"Prejudice doesn't always vanish with time," I lamented. For a long time, my Imperial past haunted me, despite my highly publicized killings of loyalist Imperial commanders during their second assault against Narshe, and in the raid on the magitek labs. Yet, unlike Leonard, I really _did_ commit horrendous acts, such as the Torching of Maranda, all in the name of what I believed was political unification. All hateful barbs against me were true to the letter. Had I not helped destroy Kefka, those prejudices might still remain.

Even today, Edgar was still on very rough ground with his in-laws in Vardigga. His ten years of double-faced politics didn't place him in the limelight for most Vardiggans, Charise's family included. If she was the only Vardiggan to actually trust him, it would come as no surprise. Nowadays, there was no venomous hostility, but there was only minimal respect and absolutely no endearment. There was no official unity between Figaro and Vardigga, except in Charise's wishful mind.

But unlike Edgar and me, Leonard hadn't done a goddamn thing to invoke such wrath. Even if people truly were victims of Julus Gurosawn, this was going too far. There was no justification for kidnapping.

Neither of us could say anything to console Terra, or ourselves, for that matter. I exchanged understanding looks with Sabin as Terra cursed the social stigma unjustly put upon Leonard. At last, the distraught half-esper got a hold of herself, taking a seat and breathing heavily, calming herself as best she could.

"Go see Mog, and ask about Leonard's place." Sabin's words brought little consolation, but he couldn't say much else, merely echoing Terra's idea. It was something, the best we could do.

Insignificant as it was, Terra at least used such encouragement wisely. "Yes. As long as there's an option to pursue, I'll pursue it. Local Narshean authorities won't help in this matter, that's for sure."

_change in s & n_

Yet another Marandan infantry soldier fell to my rangamju, the hooked claw piercing the man's neck and mandible with an underhand strike.

This time, Sindreo Geminsa's minions weren't mounting a naval assault. The legion seeking revenge for the Lenshelgh ambush was a ground-based unit, complete with infantry, cavalry, and artillery.

They marched through the Tarpakeus Mountains, hell bent on burning Lenshelgh to the ground if such would force the 'brigands form the east' out of hiding. However, such drastic action proved unnecessary. We'd already cleared out of Lenshelgh by that time, and they pushed further east, sensing their new foes were in Albrook. We met them at the edge of the mountain, with a tried and true battlefield tactic.

About 8'000 Nyufalng drew the Marandans' attention with a frontal assault. When the enemy took the bate, additional Nyufalng forces closed in on the sides, with archers, and creations taking down the preoccupied foe. Ironically, we were using a tactic much similar to what the enemy used against Tzen at Fort Nolbierros, a multi-sided attack. Of course, ours differed greatly, so the enemy wasn't fully prepared for it.

Nonetheless, Duke Sindreo's army proved formidable. A wicked throwing knife, its blade resembling a tree with branches, hacked into Chithagu's shoulder. My steed snarled but blew off the pain as he resumed his charge though the Duke's ranks. A man with a short, hefty sword and tall kite shield stood before us diagonally, his weapon aimed forward. His intent was to come in from an angle and stab one of us. While Chithagu looked the other way and clawed another foot soldier's skull in half, I swung my weapon down onto the shield bearer, using the hook to reach beyond the large tower shield. His skull broke open, his eye coming loose from the socket as my scythe-hammer slaughtered one more foe.

Mounted Chocobos rushed in all directions, going for the nearest combatant not wearing the Duke's colors. Unlike the Tzenish and Albrooker steeds, these chocobos were highly trained attack birds. Their powerful beaks easily killed prey with a single peck or bite, and many Nyufalng riders were knocked from their mounts by these yellow birds, dying from injuries that bled out seconds later. One such bird charged from my right, with its mouth open for the kill. My kalsahun was shoved into its path, the bird squawking as its beak was gored by the shield spikes. My rangamju's needle tip finished the job with a stab to the neck. The bird collapsed as we sped onward.

A nearby magitek armor was aiming for the tree line, where Nyufalng shooters fired from cover. With a loud boom and a puff of white smoke, a cannon ball was discharged, splitting a pine tree and sending two snipers reeling. These mortars had two ammunition types, long-range standard shot and short-range grapeshot. The former could hit hard from a distance, while the latter was meant for shorter distances, as it would scatter upon a wide area when fired.

This particular unit had another asset, motorized ball-and-chain arms. While a gun crew reloaded the cannon, the armor's pilot used the mace hands to repel creations that charged the walker, shattering limbs and crushing skulls. The two chained spheres weaved about, fending off close-up attacks on the sides and front.

Its backside was vulnerable, but we had something else to bring down this cannon/mace armor. "Chithagu, tumors!" I called out. He obeyed, coughing up one of his organic fragmentation bombs and hurling it towards the armor's exposed crew. It blew up, nailing both gunners with a dozen bone shards and embedding several in the pilot's skull. The armor stumbled forward, motionless and neutralized amid the stumps of splintered tree remains.

Many of the slaves we'd rescued from Lagione were here on this mission. They voluntarily fought with a near-suicidal zeal which rivaled that of the Duke's own 'suicide scouts', a division of suspect troops in Sindreo's army who could only prove their worth to him by jeopardizing themselves for his cause. Failure to do such in battle yielded extreme corporal punishment, such as torture to the point of death. It was a tossup as to who was more self-destructive, the freed slaves or their suicide scout enemies, but the ex-slaves put a dent in the enemy ranks, and the rest of our side used the suicide scouts' reckless aggression against them.

Suicide scouts were easily destroyed with minimal risk when exploited properly, but a much different and more formidable soldier class was also here for the mayhem, Berserkers. Used in both infantry and cavalry, these men and women were trusted, ranking soldiers who were Sergeants at the least. They carried a pair of sabers and were constantly swinging and thrusting in some way. Rumors claimed that a Berserker's weapons never stopped moving until victory, or the trooper's death. Their wild blades could sever and penetrate whole tree trunks, full shields, and even the mechanical legs of armor units in one swipe. The Berserker was a swordsman's equivalent to a spear toting-Dragoon knight.

And Sindreo had his share of Dragoon loyalists. But for the moment, it was the dual sword-slinging Berserkers playing his offence in this clash. A Berserker nearby hacked off a Nyufalng man's right hand with one sword, and decapitated him with the other. The blades shimmered, leaving transparent afterglows trailing their motion, like pale blue flames following the sword cuts.

Before he spotted us, I readied my tongue with growth lumps. When we locked eyes, the two swords moved widely in scissor-like motions between waist and neck level. However, the man's legs were unguarded, and my tongue wrapped around his armored shins. Using the lumps to transmit bio-energy, I electrocuted the Berserker, his plate armor conducting the energy transmitted through my tongue warts. He flew upwards, dropping his blades. When his corpse landed, his flesh was steaming.

Cavalry charged us, Chithagu answering back with his muscled, spike-lined tail. Each wagging motion took a leg or two off the nearest Marandan chocobo, and the riders were split open seconds later. We pulled back, the enemy giving chase. When another chocobo got past the spiked tail, I swung out with my rangamju's hammer, shattering the beak and causing the bird to stagger and slip, crushing its rider.

Rifles and bow-guns went off. While Berserkers could easily deflect projectiles aimed at their ever-moving swords, shots to their legs were less expected, and usually hit the mark. Limping Berserkers were overwhelmed by Nyufalng troops, who used their augmentations to overcome the crippled swordplay. More ex-slaves vehemently swarmed the ranks of their former masters. The Duke's army almost ruined the ex-servants' lives, and now the slaves-turned-warriors were paying them back in kind.

Minutes later, the horns blared on the opposite side of the clearing. The enemy withdrew. But we did not give chase. We wanted them to come closer, to advance further into our domain, where additional surprises awaited them.

_change in s & n_

The image looked so real, sounded real, felt real. And I wanted it to _be_ real.

Terra stood under the midday sun, smiling at me, her dark green eyes sparkling with ambition, her light green hair and sleeveless yellow sundress flowing in the gentle breeze. Flowers of all colors grew around her feet, and a snow-capped mountain loomed far in the background, its bluish gray top matching the pale blue sky and white fluffy clouds.

"Come this way." Terra's voice resonated, as if amplified by sound machines that made her voice echo throughout the field. I followed her every step of the way. I didn't really have to walk though, and somehow glided after her.

She stopped next to a tall hedge covered with pink flowers. She sniffed one, humming in pleasure. "Isn't it beautiful?" she asked, her voice echoing off the treetops.

I tried answering, but my own voice was an indecipherable mumble, at least to my ears. However, she didn't object, and reached for my hand. I could see her fingers interlock with mine, but felt nothing. Her soft, smooth touch never came, despite the physical contact.

Her free arm encircled me, and I instinctively reached for her. I felt my arms lift, and close around her midsection…almost.

Something snagged both of my arms, something hard and cold hanging off my wrists, preventing me from embracing the woman I held dear. All at once, the image began fading, Terra's form disappearing amidst a gray void. "Terra," I called her name, my voice more pronounced and defined. But her image only darkened. In a moment, the green-haired woman, the flowers, and the warm light of noon were gone completely.

"Terra!" I called out in dry, uneasy voice. She didn't respond, for she wasn't even there. Nothing but the cold black void remained. I almost reached for where she'd been, but my hand was restrained, the rattling of metallic objects bumping against each other marking my futile efforts. I groaned without articulation, and the metallic jingling sounded off as my hand went limp, the object still on my wrist.

Of course, the shackles and chains. They'd been here all along, just the like the dark, cold mystery room enclosing me on all sides. Once again, I'd fallen unconscious into a dream world, a fantasy I longed for, if only to escape this grim reality.

Day and night were meaningless here. So much time had surely passed, yet I could not quantify how much. My dreams were more eventful that this reality, not to mention more pleasant.

They were looking for me. Surely my absence was known by this time. My failures to appear at work and blitz lessons could not be overlooked. Surely Terra and the others were questioning my fate.

But would they find me? Would they know where to look, or how to look? I had no idea where I was being held, or who brought me here, save for them being enemies of my father. That group was widespread in of itself. Senator Arvis Wexler, a fellow Returner associate, was a member.

I slumped against the stone wall, only to sit up when I felt how cold it was. All I could do was hunch up and preserve what little body heat remained. I had too little energy to pull off a blitz. One particular try at such left me unconscious. The coldness was growing, taking its gradual toll. They knew this, whoever they were. Periodically, the door would open and a rectangle of glowing light filled my metaphorical crypt. A figure would appear shortly thereafter, but details were masked and blurry. I could see little more than the outline of a large, heavyset individual with a ponytail. A voice would comment in a few words each time, that grating raspy voice I heard when I first awoke here. The hoarse voice belonged to the heavyset man, but I knew nothing else. The man was only here for moments at a time, and the door would close afterward.

My teeth chattered in the cold. I massaged my arms, with small movements thanks to the shackles. The questions wouldn't stay out of my mind. Would I ever see Terra's face again? Would I ever feel the warmth of my own bed, see the light of day, or do anything beyond this dank cubbyhole? If they wished it, my captors could've taken my life by now. But they kept me alive, and for what? To make living worse than dying, to experiment in some mind game of guilt trips and family crimes? Would I ever learn their true intentions beyond holding me captive? Did I have a chance? Did it matter?

I shifted my position, and my foot brushed against something on the floor. I'd forgotten about it while drifting in and out of consciousness. A plate containing minimal food rations was next to me. For whatever reason, my captors provided me food, though this was hardly a complete meal. Two stale bread rolls were on the plate, one of them missing a corner. I had no recollection of biting it off. Did that mean anything? Was my memory failing now? Being locked away in this cold dark void with no sense of time's passing would surely deteriorate one's mental facilities. Or maybe I'd simply eaten the bread subconsciously, while dreaming of the life I no longer had.

Regardless, I reached down and grabbed the half-eaten roll. The tasteless bread crunched between my teeth. I wasn't keen on starving myself to death…yet.

As I ate the first bread chunk, the door locks rattled. That sound had become familiar, though I'd lost count of how many times I'd heard it. The door creaked open, and the stocky, heavyset figure stood in the opening, masked by the white glow beyond. "Time for your physical, Narshe Coward." That gravelly, harsh voice broke the silence. Half-awake, I had no ambition to answer him, and kept slouching against the stone cold wall, pretending to be asleep in full.

He wasn't having that. His booted foot stomped down on my own, and my cotton sock provided no cushioning at all. Pain shot up my leg and through my entire body. I clenched my teeth and growled reflexively.

The gruff man repeated himself. "I said it's time for your checkup, Narshe Coward." Before I could ponder the meaning of 'checkup' the man's pudgy fingers pressed down into my neck. They were warm to the touch, probably because I felt so cold. They dug deeper, and I gagged in response. What was he doing to me?

Whatever it was, he'd gotten his answer, somehow. "Still ticking, to some degree. You're got tenacity, for someone with abysmal intelligence."

The pains in my foot and cramps in my neck stimulated my blood flow, slightly. I had enough energy for a retort, no matter what lack of results it could produce. "I'm friends with the King of Figaro. You'll be sorry."

The gruff man's response was to be expected. "Oh my, does the weak and worthless Narshe Coward attempt a scare tactic?" He laughed tauntingly. "I'm not scared of you." Total fucking asshole or not, he was honest. He had no reason to fear me. Edgar didn't know of my whereabouts anymore than I did. These people were more enigmatic to him than me right now, and I was in the dark, both literally and figuratively.

"Got a chill?" asked my husky jailor. "I know you're feeling the freeze right now." Surely he'd know. My shivering was obvious. "Well I've got just the thing for you." His silhouette moved about, as though he were reaching down for something. The mystery object was tossed next to the dinner plate. "Here's your baby blanket."

I stared at his form, furious but silent. His insults were getting more abrasive and eccentric with each visit. From the doorway, he bid me farewell with, "Don't go dreaming of treachery and war profiteering." The door was pulled closed and I was left alone.

For some odd reason, my inhospitable company was providing a blanket for warmth. Was it just another mind game to perpetuate my confusion? Either way, I felt it was better to have the warmth than to reject the questionable gift. Feeling about in the dark, I found the padded blanket, unfolded it, and covered myself.

And that's when I noticed it. It was very subtle, and anyone else would've ignored it. But with my work experience, I knew it was there, and I knew what it meant. Having worked in the Shedairah mines, I knew plenty about chemical minerals. Various ones were extracted from the caves under the military complex, and each had its own unique smell. I'd memorized them all.

I smelled a chemical used in ether. This blanket was doused in sleeping solution. And if I stayed wrapped up, I'd breathe it in directly, forcing myself into a state of unconsciousness greater than all I'd experienced thus far.

Now the hospitality made sense. It was anything but. My captors wanted me to fall into a deep coma, using this cold room, minimal food, and a blanket soaked in sleeping gas to get the job done. I snarled in rage and threw the ether-soaked blanket off myself, letting the coldness ravage me once more.

_change in s & n_

"Mog has to know something," I told myself while passing homes in the Verdsanath District. "He's known Leonard for a good couple of years. He must know a detail or two about Leonard's residence."

But what if he didn't? Well, I'd never know unless I asked him. If he was preoccupied today, I'd seek a time when I could meet him and come back then. Leonard was missing. Every day mattered.

When I could see the mine cave's entrance, I found something new. Armed troops stood watch at the cave entry. Why was this? In all the times I'd been here, guards weren't posted outside. I knew the moogles were overworked and got extra security help from local soldiers, but only for the interior regions. Had another killing gone down here?

I slowly and cautiously approached the two guards, knowing they were posted here for a good reason. I wouldn't spook them or cause any reaction that would deny me a chance to see Mog. I announced my presence. "Excuse me."

Both men turned. They were quite armed, with shields in hand, spears drawn, rifles on their backs, and electro-prods in their belts. This suggested they were bracing for monster-related activity. Their eyes were on my person, but not their weapons. "State your business," said the nearest one in a collected voice.

"I'm Terra Branford of the Returners." Identification would help. "I'm friends with King Edgar, and with Mog the moogle, who lives in these caves. I'd like to pay him a short visit to ask some questions."

The closest guard leaned near his partner and whispered something. The partner spoke into the cave, as though addressing another troop inside. "Wait a moment," said the first guard. I did just that, happy they were considering my request.

Minutes later, the guards looked inside the cave again. The closer one addressed me next. "Follow the man inside. You have five minutes discussion time, before you'll be escorted back outside."

I entered and followed the armed soldier through chambers and halls made of natural cavern stone. After some twists and turns, we came to a large room with conveyer belts and cable-suspended transport carts, some of them carrying both freight and moogle workers across the high, open space. "There." The soldier pointed to a specific moogle sorting materials between different bins. "Your five minutes begin now."

Wasting not a second of this time, I approached the moogle. "Mog?"

He looked up from a rock-filled bin. "Terra? What brings you here? I have very little time for chit-chat." There was something amiss in his voice. He sounded edgy and nervous.

"Just five minutes," I clarified. "No more."

"Okay." He picked up a stone from a wheel-cart, examined it from all sides, and tossed it into a bin designated for something particular. "Say your piece, kupo."

"Edgar showed up at the dojo yesterday. He said Leonard missed work two days in a row, and never explained why. Messages to his place remain unanswered. Something is up, and Edgar thinks kidnapping, what with Leonard's notorious family background." I was brief yet thorough, saying only the essentials. "With the general public against him, we can't ask local authorities for help, and must take matters into our own hands. A good start would be to search Leonard's residence, but none of us know where that is. So, as you've known him longer than me, I'm asking you to provide it." I knew Mog would be unavailable to search, given his work obligations. But if he offered Leonard's address to me, I could investigate myself.

Mog's response was hardly what I expected. The stone sample fell from his hand. "Leonard's _also_ missing?"

With my precious five minutes ticking away, I had to make my point. But Mog had just implied Leonard wasn't the only one who suddenly vanished from sight. "What's wrong? Did someone else disappear?"

He picked up the fallen stone, a grayish purple one the size of my fist. "Umaro. He's gone from his cage, and no one understands how."

I almost fell, and leaned against the storage bin for support. "What the hell? Umaro's vanished too?"

"Correct. He was very obedient in his cage for some time, but now he's gone." Mog sorted more stone fragments. "I went to check on him three days ago, and found the empty cage. We don't know where he is, but after a quick examination of his pen, we found the lock was broken from inside. He let himself out, or something got in there and let him out. But who or what, we don't know."

That explained Mog's edginess and the presence of extra guards. "You think the monsters came back and killed him?"

"We're not discounting that scenario, but we can't prove it either. I don't know how he broke the lock so cleanly, assuming he actually did." He drew more mixed stones from the pile, sorting them accordingly. "A smart monster could've done that, and let him out. The bars were electrified to keep him from breaking them apart."

Time was counting down. I had to resume my primary thought. "Before Leonard vanished, he said you and Umaro were actually getting along, that the yeti was behaving properly."

"And then Umaro vanishes. I don't know what to think about his sudden change of behavior, or if it's related to his disappearance."

I'd resume this matter only after addressing the main one. "What about Leonard's place? Do you know where it is? As a fellow Returner, you can tell me. Even if you don't have explicit permission, Leonard's well-being may depend on it."

"Kupo. Terra, I would if I knew it, but I don't." The moogle shrugged when his hands were empty. "You see, I never went to his place, and he only mentioned living in some lower corner of town. He took a team of craft moogles to his place once, for some kind of work order, but that was years ago. I can't recall which ones did that. They might've died in the great collapse." The cart was empty. Mog was now at a control panel, operating a crane claw, hauling the bins onto a conveyer belt. "I'm sorry I can't be of any help. The only other person who might know is his friend in the Figaroan army, Rodney Hayne. I heard that he visited Leonard more than once."

"Sarge, as Leonard calls him." It was another alternative to consider. I'd not hit a dead end yet.

"One minute left," announced the soldier.

I had one final question. "Have you any idea where Umaro might be?"

"If I had time, I'd search the cave north of town, where you first met him, the cave accessed from the gorge under the cliff. But I have much work to acknowledge here."

That was it. I had no more time, and Mog had no more answers. "Thank you. I'll be in touch."

"Kupo Terra. I'm sorry about Leonard, but I can't do anything right now." He finished loading the bins onto the conveyer belt. "Take care." The moogle flew off to a different work area in the mine. Mindful, I rejoined the trooper and let him escort me back outside.

Once there, I asked one final question to the sentries. "Is anyone looking for the missing yeti?" Umaro was considered a vital work asset to the mines. They'd surely seek him out.

"At the moment, we're bracing for new monsters to come back here," said one guard. "As Lt. Maydecker's death is considered a monster incident, we're calling the yeti's disappearance such too. Our priority is town defense before a yeti search."

"I understand." I left the guards and hurried back to the train station, boarding an eastbound train for home. Having learned of Umaro's disappearance and Rodney's potential knowledge, my only thought was to get home, fire up my telegraph, and send Edgar this news.

Angst, confusion, and even worry clouded my thoughts during the ride. First Shadow, then Leonard, and now Umaro. What the hell was going on? Shadow vanished for long intervals, even before the great collapse, but Leonard had no reason to drop from sight as he did. And what of Umaro? Was it purely random that he was well-behaved (in Mog's words) prior his vanishing? And how did he get out? Something had released him, but what, and where was he now?

_change in s & n_

I read the transcript from the last exchange with our Marandan contacts.

We'd officially introduced ourselves to the Duke's minions, and they'd withdrawn from Albrooker territory as a result. However, they weren't backing down, just taking a rest and plotting their next act. This was expected, and we had plans of our own.

When I finished reading the transcript, I looked up from the paperwork to observe the palace garden. An empty pedestal was fixed in the center, its stone depictions of the late Sireck and Edrina long since toppled and demolished. On a patch of grass surrounding the empty pedestal, Ruqojjen held his daukaisna sword in one hand, slashing the air in zigzag motions.

"So the Duke's minions are hard at work, planning new measures against us," I said, approaching the sword-wielding High Shenthaxa. "The message was to the point."

"As always." The chief of the Nyufalng made a pass with the jagged blade, before side-stepping into a crouch and chopping a full 180. "Sindreo understands that he's up against some fierce opposition, someone far less predictable than the traditionalist House Virnone. He may suspect we brought down Tzenish dictators, and double his efforts because of that."

"For a man with so little intelligence, he'd be right on the money if so. We _did _crush House Virnone," I laughed. "The Duke never welcomed competition. In his 'mind', and I use that word loosely, the world is his and his alone."

The Jrysthovuhn long sword was thrust downwards, with its serrated edge facing up. "Your foe's insanity can be a powerful ally of yours, if you exploit it right. Sindreo Geminsa triumphs in warfare, but fails in most other political aspects. According to the last message, some of the peasants are more organized than him, regarding non-military matters."

I skimmed a paragraph that expounded on this very topic. "According to theories, if the Duke perished and had no heir to carry on his will, a local civilian government could be established. This would halt any power vacuums that Sindreo-lovers would utilize to reestablish his rule." I read further down. "Unfortunately, such people don't have insight into the Duke's mind. The kill-or-be-tortured-to-death mantra is incomprehensible to them. It reminds me of Asniele. That stupid bitch Gallisirva has a chokehold on ethics, even a couple years after her miserable death, which the people are sentencing upon themselves by following her teachings."

"Yes, much of Asniele was undeserving of our help. But don't forget the one person who understood what brutality is and what it can do, the young man whose father was crushed to death. It only took one person to heed our advice, and we lured the Duke's forces into the Lenshelgh ambush." The daukaisna was moved about in several cross-cut formations, hacks that would leave marks intersecting at ninety degree angles, had they cut something besides thin air. "If we can set more examples to show more people how things really work in life, we can exterminate Sindreo's tyranny before it escalates any further."

"So, what's our next step?" Nothing in the transcript described operations to counter the Duke's efforts, and I seriously doubted we'd sit tight and wait for his goons to knock on our door again. Surely they'd try something new.

"We fuck with his hubris yet again, this time taking the battle to him before he's ready for it." Ruqojjen's blade was pushed forward. "His demands on the slaves are much higher now, since we've established ourselves as a menace to his dream. Another Asniele-type demonstration will be the op, done with slaves bearing witness. Someone will take heed, as happened in Asniele."

I pieced together his not-so-vague implications. "Wreck havoc in the factories, sorta like what we did in Tzen before assaulting the palace district."

"Cripple the production lines, and convince the production crews to reassess their value system." The Shenthaxa thrust his blade in a series of quick stabs, a performance that reminded me of a very crucial piece literally in the Duke's arsenal.

While he failed at politics, Sindreo Geminsa had a certain edge in warfare, something unique to himself. He was unmatched in the art of Marandan fencing. During the jail sentence for his first attempt on the Empress's life, the Duke met a fellow prisoner who shared his hatred of Gallisirva and Turianse. The inmate was an aged martial instructor, one the Emperor's in fact, and was jailed for 'corruption and brutality'. This man sensed much potential in the Duke, and taught Sindreo the basic and advanced techniques of Marandan swordplay. Blending this with his own martial arts knowledge, the Duke eventually created his own original fencing style.

Though our knowledge of it eclipsed his, the Duke wasn't a total stranger to the Spirit Stream and its essence. He would drain it for his own ego. Claiming it for his image was important to him, but he could utilize it in battle. There was a quote which claimed Duke Sindreo Geminsa put the 'rape' in rapier. His use of the fencing blade instilled shock and awe. He could stab through solid plate mail a dozen times in a spilt second, and could slice the air with such velocity, the wind itself would alter its course. Lesser versions of these techniques were found in his Berserker troops.

The man was undoubtedly a shitty politician, but there was no denying his competency as a skilled, merciless warrior.

This ruthless talent boosted the Duke's intimidation factor, and helped keep the slaves obedient. How would this effect any who witnessed our demonstrations of defiance? "The Duke is powerful," I pointed out "thanks to more than his obsessive lackeys. He's got some nasty fencing skills to coerce his involuntary servants into submission. Suppose our examples don't produce understanding?"

"The Duke keeps his moral slaves compliant, but since we're outsiders who already killed some of his goons, he won't blame his slaves for our actions." Ruqojjen swung downwards, tilted his weapon at the last millisecond, sliding it horizontally a few inches off the ground. His control was amazing, especially with a sharp, heavy weapon that could hurt the user as well as the opponents. "Though if he does blame the slaves, he'll be looking inwards, and we can close in from the outside while he's thus distracted. But if we play our moves right, he'll have revolting slaves inside his dominion _and_ dangerous enemies beyond. He and his troops will be overwhelmed, torn on both fronts."

"And fewer slaves means fewer resources to supply military action, which means less resources to deal with either problem." I smiled, forming an image of riots in my mind, more ex-slaves building their path to freedom with the blood of the Duke and his loyal minions. It only required the slaves to forsake their idealism and moral righteousness.

Yet that still left the issue of the Duke himself. His fencing skills were fierce and spectacular, no less than his methods of torture and execution. I was hardly a beginner in the Nyufalng camp, but there was no fucking way I'd go up against the Duke in a match. I'd prove myself too ferocious to be written off, and he'd thus deem me a capable opponent, worthy enough to feel his swordplay.

The Pung Thoshidai could hold their own against him, though it wouldn't be a clean cut, one-sided clash, not unless more than one of them took him on.

The High Shenthaxa leapt high, swinging the toothed blade in a full circle at the peak of his jump, and brining it back around just as he landed. I realized something. Certainly the chief of the Nyufalng considered this too.

A countdown was in place. I didn't know how much time remained, but it was inevitable that Sindreo's rapier and Ruqojjen's daukaisna would clash in combat. Regardless of where or when, it was only a matter of time, and very little of it.

The skilled High Shenthaxa dashed forward, parrying a theorized attack upwards with the sword's broadside and chopping down afterward. As the blade's tip touched the grass, a door opened behind us. We turned and saw Yithadri, clad in her gold robes and orange sigil, standing on a cement path between two grass fields. "Ruqojjen, Ajalni. I've some good news, and some bad."

"Good new first." Ruqojjen took the words right out of my mouth.

"As you know, the Divine still has many wounds that have yet to mend, most of them are unseen to all but ourselves." The Shamaness's hair, sash, and robe fluttered in a light breeze. "The battle at the Tarpakeus provided plenty of blood and essence energy, from both our losses and the opposition's. Any wounds nearby should heal soon. But there's another wound elsewhere that's actually getting worse, festering. This particular spot is withering faster than usual."

This was real shitty. Most of the Divine's injuries stayed constant, even if they didn't heal. Rarely had they grown worse, and never this fast. "Which injury is that?" I asked.

"The one Tanrevilt uncovered." Yithadri adjusted her circlet.

Ruqojjen paused from his swordplay drill, shoving the daukaisna's point into the grass. "There? How appropriate." His voice was serious and sarcastic at the same time. "Did he contact us regarding this?"

"No. I sensed this in mediation." Yithadri massaged her forehead, as though a sensation of pain or pressure hadn't subsided completely.

Was I to feel satisfaction, or a greater concern? As I thought about it, this was definitely a matter of great concern. Any satisfaction I'd feel would only be short term.

_change in s & n_

Jerom's lance met with Locke's Atma Weapon. The treasure hunter was increasing his stamina with use of the long gleaming sword, but my mind didn't consider much beyond this. I was still confused after reading Terra's message.

I hoped her visit with Mog would answer a question or two regarding Leonard's disappearance. Instead, it raised a whole new question about Umaro, who'd also dropped off the map. Were they connected in some way? If so, how? There were so many questions and disturbingly few answers.

I'd contacted the local guards, and they knew so little themselves. It was clear the yeti hadn't freed himself from the cage. Someone or something got in there and let him loose. Where he went next was the latest mystery. Terra discussed this with Mog, and the moogle said the caves behind Narshe's northern cliffs would be a place to search. We first met Umaro in that location.

Unfortunately, almost nothing came about regarding Leonard's place. There was only one person who _might_ know something about that.

Jerom rushed Locke, his lance point aimed directly at the treasure hunter. Despite wielding a large sword, Locke's footwork was quite swift. He strafed to his right, taking a pace forward as the Colonel dashed past him. Locke swung out with his Atma, and Jerom barely managed to turn and guard in time. "Impressive," said the officer. "Had you been any faster, your sword would have struck a blow."

"I'm definitely getting faster, and this is not a speed-oriented weapon." Locke's statement was true, but his use of Atma could've proved otherwise to the uninformed. He swung the long sword with more speed than I thought possible, and he wasn't a ranking swordsman like Cyan or Ziegfried.

I grabbed my Aura Lance and stood from my seat. "So Locke, shall we have at it?"

"Why not?" He twirled Atma in his hand. "Not everyone gets to spar with the great Figaroan King."

"You've known me since childhood. I'm surprised we waited this long." I gripped my spear and took a stance. Locke held Atma with both hands. On my signal, he made a thrust. I parried it with the butt end of my spear and swung upwards with the business end. However, Locke's off-hand stopped the momentum, as he gripped the spear just under the blade. With his sword arm, he raised the Atma sword for a pass at my legs.

I jumped, and in doing so, pushed him backwards. His grip left my spear shaft as he staggered back several paces. He retained his footing and lifted the sword with both hands, his left hand pressed against the broadside. This motion parried my swing, throwing me for a loop. I used this movement to my advantage, flowing with it and putting space between us. Then I looked over my shoulder, gripped the lance at the butt end for maximum reach, and shoved behind me, stopping a few inches from Locke's armored vast. His long sword was over twice that length from the spear blade.

"Score another one for the good King," Locke acknowledged with a smirk. "Not that it's beyond you. You're no Monarch if I can best you in a sparring match."

Before I could laugh back, a command center guard entered the training room. "Your Majesty, a man requests your attention. He claims it's important."

A brief rest from the training was welcome. "Send him in."

The guard left, and the guest came in moments later. He looked familiar, and I realized I'd seen him when I spoke at the farming districts to the northeast. He was a farmer, and the unofficially elected spokesmen for the agriculture community at that conference. He carried a small wooden crate. Whatever was inside, the guards had searched and cleared its contents.

"Good day sir. What's in the box perchance?" I addressed him in casual manner.

But his face turned grim. This told me plenty. He was more than displeased, and I had a clear idea of why. He slid off the crate lid and pulled something out. "You see this?" His voice and eyes were dagger-sharp.

I looked at the discolored object swinging in his grasp. "It's a turnip."

"No, it _was_ a turnip. Now it's just a wilted, useless chuck of deceased vegetation." The farmer put the wilted vegetable back in the crate and pulled out something else. "And this _was_ a celery stalk. But now, it's only soft, limp, colorless piece of yard waste. And I've got an entire field of these." He tossed the celery back inside the box. "So I ask, Your Royal Highness. Where's our goddamned plumbing?"

Maybe I should have expected this, after the various inconveniences the farmers encountered up to this point. But I so believed I'd dealt with those issues. I enforced a policy that, unfair though it seemed, was done in all fairness, to ensure the farmers got water that other businesses could give up without major consequence. I also funded the water works taxation out of my own pocket, and kept this a secret to maintain an impartial public stance. Sabin was aiding the construction crews when he could, despite getting no pay for his efforts and cancelling blitz lessons to do such.

All that hard work and sacrifice had brought…what? Another problem?

I faced the disgruntled farmer. "Sir, rest assured, the plumbing is just around the corner from your district." I knew this, having checked the progress charts. My honesty should've been convincing.

But that was not to be. However, I anticipated skepticism on the farmer's behalf. This wasn't comforting though, when he proved me correct. "You said that last time," he growled angrily. "Our crops have no time left. You've seen the results in here." He shook the wooden box. "The ground is dry, and the amounts of water available can't do shit! It's now or never!"

Yes. It was inevitable. There was another problem. I tightened my fist and cursed silently. But this problem was different. This wasn't an issue of inadequate funding or taxpayers' financial supply. This was a matter of the ground itself. I knew there was a dehydration rate in this town, and my intention was to complete the plumbing before dehydration reached its peak. That rate stayed fixed, never slowing down or speeding up for the entire duration of this waterworks upgrade.

If the ground was fully dry, as the farm worker just mentioned, what did that mean?

Did the farmer really know that? He was only a commoner, and didn't have the resources available to me. How could he understand what was happening in the soil? "Sir, I gave you my word. You need to be patient…"

"I've been patient!" he barked, cutting me off. "We can't wait any longer!"

My company was not oblivious to the famer's outburst. Jerom rushed to my side. "Peasant. You are speaking to your King. I demand you show the proper reverence." His voice was commanding, nearing the intensity of the farmer's.

The agriculture worker wasn't stepping down. "Reverence? Easy talk for you soldier. What sort of King deserves reverence when he shows none to my crops?"

I raised an arm between the farmer and the Colonel. "Sir that's not true. I've been doing much in the name of your farmland." I had to diffuse the tension. "The new water lines will be in place shortly."

"The truth is spoken." Jerom leaned at the farmer, getting into the man's face.

This was an invitation for Locke to voice his commentary. Unlike Jerom, the treasure hunter didn't need to maintain a professional attitude, for he wasn't an actual soldier. "Yeah! Watch your fucking tongue pal! You're snarling at the very person who made this town, the very person who got you those crops to begin with. Your attitude is one fucking inch short of treachery!"

I hastily grabbed Locke's shoulder and pulled him back. His heart was in the right place, but his temper left everything to be desired. His hateful tone would not convince the farmer of anything. I tried in a less irate manner. "I won't call you a traitor, but you're out of line with this hostility. You've no idea what I'm doing to get you those pipelines."

"And you've no idea what's happening to our crops…My King. I'm not the only person facing massive loss of products." He stared me down, ignoring Locke and Jerom. "This town needs my products. You should know that."

Locke wasn't finished. "You know what. If you don't like the man's efforts to serve your ungrateful ass, why don't you just fuck off and get out of town?"

"Ha," laughed the farmer sarcastically. "Maybe that's a good idea. I'll use what money I have left to buy a pad somewhere else. I leave town, I don't have to pay your obscene taxation."

I bit my lip. He could easily do that. I could tell he was seriously considering it. If he could leave, others would certainly follow. That would be disaster for the taxation, and the town itself. Not only would there be fewer taxpayers to fund the required labor, there'd be fewer suppliers of produce in this town. That would bring a new calamity by itself.

I had to persuade this man to stay here in Figaro City. "I give you my word as King. I would _never_ hold out on my people, ever. I know things have been rough and uncertain the last few months, but the project is reaching its conclusion. I can feel it." And I really did. Honesty was a factor once more. But would the people wait around that much longer? I concealed the desperation in my voice, but I still felt it.

"I have a boy and two girls, my _King_." He didn't speak my title in a reverent manner. Locke and Jerom were hardly pleased by that. "I don't have any more time for bullshit. The crops are _dying_. The farming soil has all the fertility of a wasteland."

A dressed guard appeared in the doorway behind the farmer. "Sir, that's enough. It's time for you to leave." The guard drew his blade. "You can walk out, or we'll remove you if need be."

"Right. I should leave." The farmer glared at me one last time, his words implying more than just leaving this room. He stormed away from us, with the guard close behind.

"Fucking disloyal cocksucker!" snapped Locke once the two were gone. "After everything you've done for him and this whole goddamn town, you get mocked and insulted like that. Edgar, you should've jailed that prick the moment he started talking shit."

Locke's darker side was coming out. He was fiercely defensive of my status, his loyalty touching on the fringes of obsession. "Locke, what he speaks of is a very deep matter. The farms are almost as important to this town as my leadership. That man has duties, as both a father and agriculture worker," I explained, wondering if Locke would understand. "He's under much stress. I only tolerated his outburst because I can empathize with him under such pressure. He's carrying this town upon his shoulders, just in a smaller way than me."

Locked rolled his eyes where the man stood until moments ago. "Is that any excuse for mockery and insulting disrespect? That bastard spoke to you as if you were some criminal stealing from his property. You're not."

But what if I'd done just that, in the farmer's mind? I once feared this would happen. I could no longer say it wasn't.

And then came this new matter, the possible deterioration of the farming soil itself. No amount of tax money or labor would solve that. But, was it true at all? The farmer could've exaggerated things in such a mindset, and not even realize it.

"I don't intent for it." I sat back down, placing my spear on a weapon rack nearby. "Locke, as the King of Figaro, I'll be the victim of skeptics and criticism, and it won't always be objective. I can't fault that man for his distrust and anger, if what he says is true."

"Criticism is one thing, condescending disrespect is something else." Locke shouldered Atma. "Free speech has its limits."

I could've mentioned that I hardly earned respect from most of my wife's homeland, but I halted that response. It wouldn't do me any favors to dwell on this matter more than necessary. I took a seat and let Jerom and Locke practice another bout, as my thoughts were now fixed on this fabled problem with the farming soil. Someone with knowledge of plants and dirt would have to collect samples from the northeastern farms. I had no proof of this, but the farmer was too intense for something that was impossible. He believed it was happening at the least. I'd have to confirm or disprove it, somehow.

"Sir, I got your message. You wanted to speak with me?"

An accented voice spoke up from behind. I looked away from the sparring match to see Rodney Hayne. "Yes, Staff Sergeant. I know this may sound odd, but it can't be ignored." The farmland was just one problem among others. "It's about Leonard."

_change in s & n_

The image was clear now. Denial was not an option.

I could still see…on some level. The small sliver of light under the closed door was visible, the only break in the dark void. I could still smell too. The ether-soaked blanket gave off a feint stench, even after I shoved it in the corner. Surely the fumes were taking their toll, and would eventually succeed in their purpose. Whether it was slow and gradual or fast all at once meant nothing. My captors had all the time in the world.

The Returners were out looking, in some way. But no one would come here searching for me. Narshe itself would only celebrate my suspicious disappearance, even those who played no part in it.

On my end, escape was impossible. Even beyond the shackle chains and locked door, there were surely more of them. The last time that gruff-voiced man opened the door, he'd been talking to someone beyond, talking about me. I could hear voices at other times, conversations not fully out of earshot. I didn't know the words, but people were there. I'd met about six on my first day/night in this darkness. There were likely more. If I got out of this room, I be spotted, and killed on sight…unless they used another of those things on my neck.

They wanted me to fall unconscious here, and ultimately die in this unknown place, to die starving, freezing, confused, and alone, to die on their terms, when they wanted, and how.

There was no escape. This room would be my grave. Even more tragic, my corpse would never be found. Whoever was past that closed door would dispose of my body and go about their business. My friends would know nothing of my grim, degenerate end. There would be no closure for them. The truth of my fate was going to the grave with me.

There was nothing to lose, and nothing to gain. My life's legacy would end here, silently, known only to those who brought on my demise.

Asleep or half-awake, I pondered the course of my life. Though I was largely despised by my fellow Narsheans, my presence here rooted in exactly that, I'd at least found people who accepted me for who I was. Sarge and the Returners were my only friends, but they'd been such great friends that I maybe didn't need any more. These last several months of my life had been different than everything before, and I was grateful to have known such people, even for that small amount of time.

But I had regrets too. I barely took interest in tracking down my long-lost sister when I found myself here. I was so interested in discovering her fate after nine years, only to wind up in a nameless hole when my own would be sealed away.

And I'd never see my friends again. The very people who lit up my life would never learn of my misery in this dark enigma. Their faces flashed before me when I shut my eyes, the cocky smirk of Edgar, the winks of wisdom from Sabin, the girlish dimple-filled grins of Relm, the straight shiny hair locks and picturesque image of Celes, the profound but non-human face of Mog, the homely features and half-smoked cigar of Sarge. I thought of them in lush detail.

And there was Terra, the very person who saved my life and turned it around in a single act, her green hair and eyes shimmering with passion and beauty, the person who opened me up to the world, boosting my trust in other people exponentially. I had barely come to know her as my love interest, a new experience in my life of persecution and distrust.

It was all over now. Her face, her voice, her touch were lost, and she'd never again experience mine for herself. Whatever destiny I had with her was denied forever, just when I was on the verge of embracing it.

Nearing the end, it didn't matter if I had regrets or not. The past was the past, set in stone forever. It made no difference if I thought of something I'd do differently in life if given the chance. My only true regret was something beyond my control, being the child of Narshe's own traitor. Public resentment against my father landed me here against my will.

But I was long past cursing my dead father's name. The real enemy was very much alive now, somewhere beyond that closed door. If I'd have any true regrets, they'd be here in the present.

There was one thing left now. It didn't provide any chance to escape, or even reveal my fate to those who'd care, but it was a choice, the last one I had. It would change very little; I'd perish unbeknownst to my friends, and my captors would go about their merry business…almost.

Not all of them would. At least one would join me in death. I'd already been sentenced, but I'd die on my terms, and force them to kill me. I would not die alone, and they'd know me very well in my final moments.

My mind was clear now. When that door opened next, someone would die, and I'd inevitably follow. My thoughts bore no rage, hatred, regrets, or resentment. I simply breathed deep and took that first step of my final stand, using swift motions to begin, applying pressure to hasten the task, mindful to keep noise to a minimum. My last stand would not be expected.

Only positive thoughts filled my mind. Despite being the hunted, hated outcast for most of my life, I'd found happiness, and would keep those thoughts until the very end.

_I love you, Terra Branford…_


	33. Devious Frontiers

**Chapter 33: Devious Frontiers**

"Why?" I could say little else in my state of confusion. "Things just keep getting more complicated."

I traced my finger along the curlicue patterns on the arm of my throne. Charise sat in hers next to me, her chin resting on her fingers, just as clueless as myself.

Before us stood Cyan, his brow wrinkling in deep thought. "Surely there's a connection between two of these recent happenings at least," he theorized. "Leonard and Umaro vanish one after the other, not long after a Lt. Maydecker was found dead in the moogle caverns. We've no substantial proof, but I feel there's a link of sorts."

"Of sorts." I looked down, shaking my head. "That could mean anything. What kind of connection?" I doubted Cyan knew any better than I did, so I changed the subject. "I just hope SSgt. Hayne found something of use at Leonard's place." The NCO hadn't told me Leonard's exact address, but he confirmed knowing it himself. He'd left for Narshe earlier in the day, intent on searching Leonard's house for anything suspicious. I knew local authorities wouldn't be of any help.

Until the Non-com reported back his findings, I'd be stalled on this matter, and there was yet another trial before me, a long-standing one that had just taken one more surprise twist. "So what about the plumbing taxation funds?" I pointed at the folder on the table between us.

Charise opened it, pulling out one particular document. "Everything's accounted for, thanks to a certain…donation from those on high." She didn't reference my personal funding in such explicit terms. "Regarding the progress, they have the money to keep a steady pace."

I would've sighed in relief, had the other problem not been a factor. "According to the farm worker, the soil is rotting. Crops are wilting faster than expected, and he attributes this to the soil itself."

"The soil." Charise pressed her lips together tightly. "The desert's natural soil was unfit for agriculture. We transplanted farming dirt from elsewhere to compensate. I recall this in great detail." As she'd grown up in a country known for its farming accomplishments, Charise knew plenty about agricultural dirt. "I've seen dirt of lesser quality last longer than this. Whatever that man implied concerns more than the soil alone."

"We was serious, irately so. I wouldn't presume he was making it up, but it's possible he exaggerated things, assuming he fully understood them. His mood was not exactly clear-headed." The farmer's spiteful voice still resonated in my ears. "I'd never seen one of my subjects that angry, certainly not at me."

Cyan's hand gripped the hilt of his sheathed katana. "Sire, you don't suppose they'd…" Why didn't he finish? What was he suggesting?

"Suppose they'd what?" I asked. Cyan wasn't casually discussing what-if's.

He let go of the sword handle and gazed about. "It seems the peoples' comfort has fallen greatly in the past few months. Money troubles were an issue for them, and now it appears money won't solve the new problem with soil fertility. I'd not think it far-fetched for the public to, out of desperation…" Once again, Cyan didn't complete his idea, though he provided more details to suggest something specific.

I considered the solution rather than potential results of the problem, to solve the matter before it escalated to whatever level Cyan theorized. "Someone has to inspect the farming soil, just to see if that man was correct or not. If there's no problem, it might put him at ease."

"A wise plan." Charise closed the tax document folder. "I'll track down a qualified hydrologist. And it would very well benefit me to observe the cropland for myself."

"If you feel compelled to do such, by all means do. But leave the official data gathering to the qualified expert." I smirked, not in cockiness, but in some attempt to lighten the mood. "Not that I doubt your Vardiggan education of plants and gardens, but you can't have all your fun at the greenhouse, no more than I can at the weapon shop."

Charise burst out laughing. Even the hardened Cyan broke a slight smile. "I'll bear that in mind Edgar," said my wife, standing from her seat with the file. "I'll go store this away." We kissed and she departed.

"Sir. I found you."

No sooner had my wife left the throne room did the voice of Rodney Hayne join our company. "Ah, Hayne. Did you find any clues?" I asked, knowing he'd just returned from Narshe.

"Nothin'. I found a spare key and went inside, callin' his name but gettin' no response. I searched all over, but the only thing out place was his telegraph, flooded with messages askin' where he is and why he's gone." Rodney gazed off to the northeast, the direction of Narshe. "It's like he went out to the grocery mart expectin' to come back, but never did."

"Did you ask around the neighborhood," inquired Cyan. "Maybe the locals noticed something. You needn't mention Leonard's name specifically." We both suggested Rodney do this before he left. His army fatigues and arsenal could easily pass for those of a Narshean trooper. Rodney used to be one, before he was transferred here.

"Aye General, but nobody saw anything strange." The NCO shrugged.

I anxiously stepped down from the gold-plated throne, joining the two soldiers with my own nervous look. "I've suspected foul play ever since the dairy foreman reported his unexplained absence, but we've nothing to _prove_ that."

Cyan cringed. "My liege, I know these words could hurt, but as King, you have many duties. You cannot allow one individual to supersede them, even if Leonard is a close friend. This matter cannot consume you."

The Doman was right, whether his words cut deep or otherwise. "Yes, and there are additional mysteries about, like the disappearance of Umaro." Thinking about the yeti got my mind working in a new direction. "The local guards are still bracing for another hostile monster encounter, so they're not out looking for the yeti. Even so, he was considered a valuable member of the labor team. Maybe we could search for him next, and that might lead us to Leonard's whereabouts. Perhaps, we'll also get some lead on the monster that killed Frank Maydecker."

_change in s & n_

"It's just like we predicted." Sdalsyra tightened her head scarf, concealing her Pirusymn stone and discolored flesh. "The Duke's production lines are running full-force."

Dyal'xern ran his fingers along the brim of his top hat. "That's why we're here, to shut it down."

Just like in Asniele, we'd publically demonstrate how vulnerable the Duke's minions really were, with plenty of slaves bearing witness to the slaying of their oppressors. This time however, even if they didn't take our advice to heart, we'd accomplish a great deal nonetheless.

We stood on the outskirts of a Marandan factory in the namesake capital. Ever since their defeat along the Tarpakeus Mountains, Sindreo Geminsa's troops were patrolling every square foot of Marandan soil, anticipating the new challengers to his 'golden age' would push west into his dominion. They presumed right. For as little as they knew about us, they fully understood we weren't a force to be taken lightly. But they didn't know all the resources we had available. They assumed we'd try a land route, and even had some vessels guarding the ports.

They didn't know we had air transit. We used just that, taking the long route, flying over Tzen while avoiding the continent's southern coastlines, which the Duke had claimed for his own budding empire. Our ship docked amid some hills north of the capital, a region largely unchecked, as the most intense patrol groups were stationed just west of the uplands near the continent's core. After touching down, we stowed away on a freight train bound for the capital. It stopped just outside the town, where we continued on foot, three individuals dressed in civilian garb, just like we did back in Asniele. We blended in perfectly, giving no hints of the superhuman foes the Duke and his followers expected.

The building's open roll-up door practically invited us inside. We slipped in with a few other slaves, unnoticed by the sentries. Instead of following the locals, we took a different route, passing through a storage chamber piled full of crates. Amid a 'hallway' formed by the towering boxes, a man shouted in agony, while several other voices sneered at a much lower volume. We stood still, leaning against the crates. The spectacle was beyond our view, but plenty audible.

"Give me a break," gasped the man, winded from what ever caused him the pain. "I'm just not strong enough to do that."

"Ha!" snarled another man. "You work for long hours in the fields, hauling ploughs and pulling cotton from the hedges, yet you're too weak to push a half-filled cart of machine cogs." There was silence. "Would you like me to copulate with your daughter again?"

"NO!" gasped the pleading man. "I'll do anything. Just leave her alone, Duke Sindreo. I'll work twice as long if you so desire."

There he was, the bane of Gallisirva's utopia and her greatest failure, not twenty feet away beyond the box pile. He was known to frequent to this plant, observing the slave labor with his own eyes for his own amusement. I exchanged a glance with my company. We all sat tight. Killing the Duke was not the objective of this mission. If we encountered the man, orders were to avoid conflict with him. There were only three of us, and while Dyal'xern and Sdalsyra were quite formidable, they'd not charged their essences for a drawn-out clash. From the ensuing chuckles beyond, it was obvious the Duke had some elite guards in his company.

"If I desire," gloated Sindreo. "I desire more, and I will get it. I'll etch my initials in the surface of the moons, the stars will realign in my image, time itself with bend to my will." These words of aggrandizement echoed off the stone walls of the warehouse. We shrugged them off. He was a transparent cloud of hot air, to our eyes.

But the cowed worker beyond had yet to realize this. "Yessir, yessir." He stammered.

"See to that," ordered the Duke. "I'll be back to examine your progress. But I'll keep a set of chains for your daughter, just in case. I've no shortage of healthy prospective concubines." More threats were tossed out from the Duke's minions, followed by sounds of their footsteps on the cement floor. The inept politician and his goons were leaving.

When the noise vanished, I peeked around the crate pile. Only the laborer was there, rolling around and coughing up blood, which streaked his face and splattered in the concrete floor. The man wobbled to his feet, grabbed the nearby wagon, and pushed off toward some other place in the building.

"Let's follow the chap." Dyal'xern glanced after the man. "The poor fellow could use some encouragement, Nyufalng style.

In the next room, another of the Duke's troops was observing the slave. "You've been slacking off greatly as of recent," admonished the soldier, wielding a long rifle tipped with a feather-shaped bayonet. "So work your ass of…NOW!"

The slave pulled cogs from the wagon, fitting a short rod through the central hole in each. He then placed them on a conveyer belt, and they were passed beneath a device that stamped rivets on the cog faces. As the worker slaved away, the rifleman pulled a muffin from his pouch, waving it before the slave. "You hungry?" he taunted.

The laborer's eyes followed the baked good. "I need…just a bite." He reached for it.

The soldiers responded by holding his arm out behind him and front-kicking the man in the chest, sending him to the floor. "Earn it you scrounge, if you want it so badly."

"I think I'll help myself." Sdalsyra eyed the muffin and stepped up behind the trooper, snatching it from his hand and taking a bite. "Tasty. I'm sure your Duke must be proud of your charity," she mocked.

The man turned around, glaring in rage. "You think you can steal from me, slave?"

"_Think?_" The Corrodess giggled. "I _know_ I can. I just did." Behind her back, a wad of sticky goo dripped from her fingers. She reached forward and flung it into the guy's mouth as he started a verbal retort.

He dropped his rifle and staggered backwards, grabbing at the blob. The Corrodess side kicked his midsection and he fell onto the conveyer belt…mere inches from the rivet gun device.

Maybe it was happenstance, maybe it was her intention, but the man's face was now under the machine, looking up as a rivet was fired down. The shot pegged him between the eyes, blood squirting out from his septum. The goop muffled his screams as another rivet pierced his cheek, then a third split his lips and broke a tooth. The next rivet got him directly in the left eye. He flinched, then went limp and silent as one final rivet tore into his eyebrow. The conveyer belt started up again, pushing his corpse to the ground, a fresh cog taking its place.

The corpse fell next to the stunned worker, who scuffled back in shock. I went to his side and helped him up. Sdalsyra presented him with the remaining muffin half. "I've eaten my share, the rest is yours." He took the offer very slowly, quite unsure of what just transpired before him.

I did the explaining. "Yes, you've got questions aplenty. I'll start by saying we're enemies of the Duke and his followers. We could be friends…maybe." As most of Ansiele rejected our viewpoints, I wasn't making any assumptions.

"Did you come to help us?" The laborer at last found his voice.

"That all depends." Dyal'xern narrowed his eyes. "On your personal ideas, and your ability to perceive what lies around you."

"You know enough already." Sdalsyra reached for the dead soldier's face and pulled the slime back into her fingers. "You're a slave to a man who'll eventually drive this planet into ruin, as Palazzo almost did before him."

"And this time, the world may not recover." I leaned closer an inch. "I heard you begging the Duke not to harm your daughter, so you realize what he's capable of. Complying with Sindreo's demands will not bring her safety. Like all tyrants, he'll expect more from you, and you'll deliver less in turn. Do you still believe compliance is the key to your future?"

Now came his answer to the crucial question, an answer that would determine if he deserved our help or not.

The man thought hard, biting into the muffin and gazing at the ceiling girders overhead. "I don't excuse him. He is a despicable excuse for a man. But disobedience brings the harshest penalties, even the accidental kind. Yesterday, a woman was but half a minute late in delivering a load of engine parts to the train outside." The man's voice grew shaky. "They broke each of her ribs individually with a construction mallet, and promised we'd be next if we followed her example. She didn't even mean to be late, and was damn near executed because of it. What can we do in the face of such brutality?"

This was an expected question on his behalf, and from the eager look on his face, he desperately wanted an answer. "Embrace it," I stated casually. "Use what you fear against those who inflict terror in your mind and soul." I put one hand on his shoulder. "Become what you fear, and fear will consume you no more."

Dyal'xern picked up the dead body, almost shoving the trooper's perforated face in the worker's. "See this? You can do it too. You have no other option, except to remain in slavery. Do you enjoy that?"

"No." The man clenched his fist, crushing the empty muffin wrapper. "But I seek an alternative that doesn't require bloodshed or some other tactic employed the Duke and his thugs. I'm better then that."

Sdalsyra faced him down, as she stood taller than him. "There is no alternative to attaining your freedom. It's kill or be humiliated and tortured to death. It's been like that for the past three years, even since the Duke established himself as Maranda's leader."

"I must fall to their level to survive?" questioned the man. "Don't you people have a sense of ethics, honor, or dignity?"

"Maybe at one time," I spoke for all of us, "in a time long ago. But at some point, each of us learned those traits are weaknesses that tyrants like the Duke exploit. Our homeland is governed by similar authoritarians, and the Empire made a living at exploiting the opposition's flaws." I squeezed both his shoulders and voiced my appeal. "The time has come for you to evolve beyond those concepts, to see their failures, and to purge them from yourself."

He gazed into my eyes. "How can I stoop to their level and still claim a morally righteous being? If I became the worst to fight the worst, I'd fail the dearly departed Gallisirva. If only she were still alive. She showed us the light, taught us how to be worlds above animals like the Duke, taught us how to walk the righteous path. How can you so callously mock her virtues?"

I frowned. Here was a Gallisirva lover in dire need of enlightenment, whether he realized it or not. We had one final card to play. If we encountered more resistance like the kind from Asniele, we'd go on with our mission and leave this loser to die.

"Gallisirva," scoffed Dyal'xern in irreverence. "You still believe she was the paragon of life? That moronic bitch is the sole reason the Duke became what he is now. He tried killing her, and she _forgave_ him, hoping to 'set him straight'. What happened? The same thing that'll happen to your daughter, if you keep thinking like you are."

The Air-smasher touched a nerve, and knew it. Such action was necessary, and it got a reaction from the laborer. "How dare you say that!" His voice was more alive now.

"The Duke will perform such," warned Sdalsyra "regardless of what we say. Duke Sindreo is lowly shit, but he's not the dregs of the scale. The lowest is the one who created his malice, the one who fueled his rage while at the same time underestimating it. The light is the darkness's best friend. Evil thrives on the virtue of others. The lowest of the low is your fucking precious Gallisirva."

"Fuck the righteous path," snickered Dyal'xern, rolling his eyes and smirking arrogantly. He was right, and wanted the slave to know it. "Those who follow it are either brainless sheep writing their own death sentence, or liars using it a pretext for the control of others. In fact, the one good thing about Duke Sindreo is that he _doesn't_ claim to walk a trail of righteousness. He's an honest foe, if there ever was one."

Dirty looks flashed on the man's face, as the politician he idolized was deconstructed before him without hesitation or remorse. He couldn't articulate his words, so I put in mine. "You can't even protect your own daughter. When she's raped by the Duke again, don't come crying to us. You won't get another chance to help her."

Dyal'xern pressed his fingers into the dead man's bloodied face, flicking blood specks into the worker's cheek. "Get use to this sight, for the next blood that spills could be yours, or your child's." The slave flinched subtly, less than I presumed he would. Maybe he was catching on.

In any case, we couldn't stall here. This factory had other slaves about. "Is your daughter worth the lives of these 'despicable excuses for people'? Is your value system worth her future? Think it over, quickly." I made a final appeal to his intelligence, if there was any. If he refused logic, he'd be killed in all probability. When the dead man was discovered at his feet, the other goons would slay him with a vengeance. Yes, he'd be killed thanks to our actions, but as a man who wouldn't help the daughter he supposedly 'cared' about, it would be no loss.

We left the man to whatever decision he'd choose, moving about the factory. Beyond the conveyer belt was a long hallway between fenced-off work areas. Another soldier stood over a woman fitting bolts into a steam pipe. She worked frantically, dropping a wrench in her haste. It appeared we could set another example…but someone else beat us to the chance.

A gunshot rang out, partly muted by the ambient rumble of machinery. Still, it carried the desired effect. The browbeating soldier fell to the ground, grasping at his tailbone section. While he flailed about, a figure rushed in, carrying a rifle and shoving the bayonet between the wounded grunt's shoulder blades. The attacker looked up, revealing his identity. The cog-and-rivet laborer had taken to our concepts after all.

The woman at the pipe was motionless, pondering this turn of events. After twisting the bayonet and pulling it out, the revolting slave offered his hand to the woman. We approached as she stood. "Thank these people." The self-promoted rifleman gestured to us. "They've inspired me to take this nation back from Duke Sindreo's filth. Gallisirva would not approve, but her opinions no longer bear value. We've no choice but to fight, and fight to kill."

Dyal'xern clapped his hands. "Bravo good sir. Only the wise and practical have a chance. The meek will die and be forgotten, just a mortality number in the Duke's lust for conquest."

The man stripped the newly dead soldier of his arsenal and offered it to the woman. She took the gear. "If we're going to die like this, we cannot live like this, pure and simple." The pair went about, destroying factory munitions and spreading the word of freedom.

We took a small gander at the scene of revolution. A soldier with captain's bars writhed on the floor clutching his face. Above him was a steam pipe with a gash in the surface, scalding hot steam spewing out. Two laborers ducked beneath the steam gout and clubbed the man with their work tools. More enslaved locals gladly joined in the fun. All it took was our toppling of the first domino, and one smart laborer did the rest. Each of the Duke's present thugs was mobbed by scornful plebes, caught by surprise as the unimaginable had just become reality. The stench of smoke filled the air, suggesting factory assets were set ablaze. Our job here was finished.

Outside the plant, the sounds of mayhem followed us. More soldiers rushed in, an explosion of sorts greeting them. I savored one last glimpse before boarding a hijacked chocobo wagon with Sdalsyra and Dyal'xern.

We fled the town, back to the hills where we'd parked the airship. A few more dead Sindreo lovers littered the ground, lying at the feet of Baokiydu and Qaurjaeda. The Sensorian and Grav-wielder stayed behind, ready to kill any troops who got close enough to our landing zone.

"A success, I presume." Baokiydu sheathed his palm spikes. "You're smiling. Even non-augmented senses would easily pick that up."

"Faster than expected." Sdalsyra disembarked the wagon between Dyal'xern and I. "We're getting really good at bringing out the intelligence in oppressed people."

"Whatever the Duke plans next will provide him disadvantages," I stated proudly. "If he sets east again, he'll have fewer resources to command. If he looks within, we close the trap from outside."

_change in s & n_

My end was near, and at least one of them would join me.

I breathed deeply in the dark confines of the mystery room, huddled in a corner next to the door, ready to strike when it opened. I could finally stand and stretch, no longer bound by the metallic chains on my wrists and ankles. They were tough and durable, but my persistence was rewarded.

The ceramic dinner plate was itself quite rigid. A good few swings were needed to break it apart. It didn't shatter, but broke into larger chunks instead. Still, this was a plus on both sides. The pieces were large and stiff enough to cause death, and I filed one edge down for extra killing power.

He would come again, and soon. The husky man with that gruff voice would return to inspect my deteriorating health. I could still smell the ether-soaked blanket. Maybe he'd presume I was under by now, dead to the word, ready for…whatever nightmare they planned for me. I was ready to fuck up those plans, with nothing better to do than wait. Time didn't matter.

I gripped the improvised ceramic blade anxiously.

Time's passing was lost on me, but however much had lapsed, the inevitable came. The door locks rattled. I held my breath. My final moment was at hand. The door opened, illuminating the back wall. At last, I could see details. The brilliant light was not shining in my face now. The floor was a dingy gray and the wall a dark, messy tan. The black blanket was bunched up in the center of light, with the useless shackles hidden underneath. If he thought I was scrunched up inside that ether-drenched covering, he was sorely mistaken, but wouldn't live long enough to realize it.

At last, the figure stepped in, hardly sparing a glance in my direction, his eyes fixed on the blanket, and what he believed was underneath. I gauged the man's form, standing for a lethal blow, and noticed it.

My eyes hadn't focused a second ago, but it was clear now. This form was different than the usual one. This man was shorter and less heavyset than my regular tormentor. Someone else had taken his place, and that mattered. By observing this new form, I saw something else, a not-so subtle detail revealed by the lighting beyond. There was something on this man's head, a band perhaps. It connected to his face, which looked a bit larger than one would expect, and it shined, like metal.

_An armored mask!_

The idea hit me before I could consider it. I might…_might_ have a chance after all. I was prepared to die, to force my captors to end my life after taking one of theirs, but this change in jailors brought an unforeseen bonus. If I could strip this guy's mask and pass as him, maybe I could escape with my life. He wore a jacket and boots which I could also lift, and his hair was long like mine. Plus, it was tied back, and I could see his exposed neck. There was no armored collar protecting his upper spine.

It was time. This random opportunity would not repeat itself. I was prepared to kill and perish, and here was a golden chance to kill, blend in, and escape. The visiting man paced up to the blanket and knelt down. I hardened myself. If he was alone, this would go unseen. If not, I'd meet him again, a moment from now in very different place. As he reached for the crumpled blanket, I crept up, raised the ceramic shard high, and thrust down.

The only noise was a barely audible crunch, like a knife splitting a cantaloupe, as the plate shard buried itself in the nape of the man's neck. He went limp without so much as a groan, his body falling onto the blanket. I quickly slid the door closed, quietly.

In the dark once more, I breathed deeply, but quicker this time. I'd never killed a human being. Giant poisonous moths were one thing. Killing them was no different than swatting one of their smaller average counterparts. The giant shelled monstrosity with neck tendrils and sonic breath was also more animal than human, despite its intelligent maneuvers. Even the talking reptile-humanoid was something I could butcher without losing sleep.

But this was something else. I'd just taken a human life. Granted, I had little option otherwise, and this vigilante captor really set himself up for a demise like this, but it still felt horrifying to be the cause of death, no matter how justified.

_Toughen up Leonard. How many Imperials, Zozo crooks, and Kefkan mages were slain by the Returners? They got the job done, hardening themselves enough to see their tasks through. You can do the same. You MUST! Now's not the time for regrets._

My inner voice was back. Though it was critical, it wasn't condescending. In fact, it was encouraging. If I were to blend in and slip away from my captors' hands, I'd need all the encouragement I could get. I steadied my hand and knelt down, feeling the body of my prey.

Not only did he wear a mask, he wore an armored cuirass too. I could feel the rigid metal under the soft leather coat. Frisking his corpse more, I felt familiar objects in his belt. Having carried them myself, they were unmistakable; weapons. This guy carried an axe and a small, folding bow-gun in his belt, with a few ammo cartridges.

Unease over killing him gave way to confusion and worry over his possessions. How'd a mere Narshean vigilante gain access to military gear? Had someone scavenged the fallen Shedairah base after the massacre? Were Narshean military officials funding the anti-Leonard hate campaign? Regardless, this was no trivial matter. These people were menacing enough by their mentality alone. With army-grade equipment, the threat level multiplied to terrifying heights.

I worked quickly, unfastening his mask, removing his jacket, boots, and plate vest, placing them on myself, tying my hair as he did, all in the dark. For extra measure, I grabbed his gauntlets and emptied his pockets. His gear was better off in my hands then his comrades'. After taking his belt and arsenal, I placed his corpse against the wall, slipping the shackles on his wrists and ankles, covering the stiff with the blanket. For effect, I allowed his right hand to protrude out with an inch of the shackle. Only if one got close and examined it would they see its failure. I wouldn't stick around that long.

The last act of my cover up was just that, covering the broken and bloodied plate shards with the blanket. I turned for the door, hearing voices beyond. After a moment, they faded out. The coast was clear…for now. I'd make the best of it. The door was slid open, and this time I was the departing one. There were keys jingling in a pants pocket. Surely one of them locked the door. Quickly and cautiously, I tried one. It didn't even fit the lock, but next key worked its wonders. I pocketed the key ring. The door was secured, with my new jailor's corpse within.

Finally, I could get a true look at my surroundings. This place resembled a jailhouse. Similar doors lined both sides of the long low hallway. Overhead lamps illuminated the place.

My mind worked fast. I could envision my captor's taking me to a house basement or a slum building long abandoned. That would make sense. But this latest observation told a different story. This was a prison-like complex that was very well maintained. Was it some underground facility? Surely no jailhouse in town would be controlled by vigilantes, would it? Again, I conjured up scenarios where local government and militia figures were colluding with those against me. Maybe the jailhouse was a front for a criminal organization, and army brass helped make stuff appear legit from outside. And I'd already found military weapons on my new company.

My heart rate increased. There was some dangerous ring in town, and until now it had gone unnoticed. They had weapons, and they controlled a jail complex. My captors were no disorganized bunch of rookies. Their deeds against me were bad enough, but their assets and efficiency made it all the more frightening. Edgar surely had to know about this. Super monsters and plumbing problems were cluttering his plate already, but I knew he'd want me to inform him about this…gang. Maybe this would be the least of his problems.

I said nothing, and made no gestures that might attract attention. If I failed to blend in, this mask wouldn't save me. Walking slowly, I went down the hall, turning corners and looked around, pretending to scout the place for abnormalities. Happily, I crossed paths with nobody in my search for the exit.

However, that would change once I found it. Two armed men stood at the doors leading outside. Mindful to be casual, I slowly approached them. One of them waved. I waved back, holding my breath. They were all that stood between me and freedom.

"Hold it," said the other guard. He wanted me to stop. I grit my teeth. Did he know? Had I given myself away? He raised an open hand, motioning with his fingers. "The keys."

Okay, the new guy took the keys from inside before paying me a visit. This man wanted them back. Slowly, I reached into the pants pocket and removed his desired item, gently placing it in his palm. "Thank you." The man hung the keys on a wall hook and resumed his guard stance. I pushed open the doors and left. Two more stood outside, but they paid no attention to me. I blended in so far, not relaxing until I was in the clear.

A huge fortified wall surrounded the prison, but no gates obstructed my passage beyond. A gap in the perimeter revealed the streets and buildings of town. And it was daylight. Once outside, I could check the mountains around the city. The closest ones would help me get a fix in my location. I'd be very specific in my report for Edgar. I was almost out.

And then, I passed the wall opening, standing on a sidewalk amid pedestrians. I tried my best to act like an armed guardsman. I wouldn't announce my escape to any vigilantes close by. Purposefully, I walked away from the usurped jail complex, past the looming wall. I didn't recognize this part of town, but I hadn't explored every square inch of Narshe while growing up. Terra introduced me to places I'd never explored myself.

Finally, I cleared the wall. I could look around and pinpoint my coordinates using the…

My heart sank. Mountains, especially the type that enclosed Narshe on three sides, didn't just vanish into thin air, except in the great collapse. Had there been another continent shattering cataclysm while I'd been knocked out? Where the close Hyaxulan range should've been, there were only distant peaks on three sides. I used the sun's position and a watch on my new gauntlet to ID those sides as north, west, and east. There was nothing to the south, not even low hills. Narshe had such along it lower borders.

I looked around, moving along at slow, observational pace. The buildings were all intact, bearing no signs of destruction. Another cataclysm seemed unlikely. The people behaved rather calmly, as if no such disaster had unfolded. They seemed normal…almost.

I overlooked it until now. With my concentration on them, it became obvious. Almost _every_ man and woman carried a weapon or two, in their hands, slung over their shoulders, fixed in their belts, and these were quality-looking pieces. The jailors weren't unique with their arsenal.

I my hands quivered in my pockets. Everything made sense, the unfamiliar surroundings, and a few full city blocks could be swarming with armed folks and appear normal, with Edgar oblivious to it all. My inner voice hit me with the disturbing conclusion.

_I don't think we're in Narshe anymore, Leonard…_

_change in s & n_

"I don't believe this shit!" Relm waved her fists and stomped down the sidewalk, a few steps ahead of me and Gau. "Edgar suspects kidnapping and nobody's lifting a finger to investigate? Terra, what the fuck is that?" Gau reached for her hand, but she paid him no attention.

"Relm, Leonard's the black sheep of Narshe, and you understand why now," I explained in calmer tone, though still one of depression and gloom. "It's not his fault, but the town can't see it that way. At best, they're happy he's missing. At worst, they're responsible for it."

"And nobody cares, not even a ranking Senator like Arvis, who of all people should never turn away from crimes right under his nose." Relm gestured madly, almost back-handing a lamp pole.

I sighed. "Arvis had a nasty experience with Leonard's family, a very personal one. Julus Gurosawn bankrupted him, and Arvis's marriage crumbled soon thereafter. Though it was tragic, it's no excuse to blame the innocent son of the long-deceased perpetrator, especially after all this time."

We passed a few side streets. Gau changed the subject. There was nothing left to say about the mining town's hatred of Leonard Gurosawn. "And Umaro's also dropped from sight?"

"Yes. Though Edgar presumed a connection to both vanishings, he's not elaborated what it could be. I'm clueless myself." We weaved around various Figaro-city locals. "Any ideas?" My company had none worthy of mention.

Fittingly, there was no time to dwell upon this matter. Relm had a responsibility to mind. The youth academy where she studied and lived was generous in allowing her to keep Interceptor on the school grounds. She was granted this privilege in exchange for performing tasks ands errands when necessary. The academy's mess hall needed a restock of various herbs, and Relm's new task was to purchase them. She was given credits and a list, and joined by Gau. Since my visit coincided with their trip to the grocery store, I agreed to help.

We found the market, with Relm reviewing the list for Gau and I. We each grabbed a hand basket and split up, hitting different aisles to find the requited goods. We efficiently met at the checkout counter after gathering our share of the listed needs.

Relm matched her list against our basket contents as we proceeded in the checkout line. Everything matched up as we stood behind the next customer, a dark-haired woman with a bag of exotic herbs. It seemed like just another business transaction, a mundane, forgettable happening among countless others that unfolded each day in this market.

The woman placed her bag on the counter, and the clerk noted the price. The woman blinked. "Excuse me?"

The clerk repeated himself, naming the price once more. The buyer was not thrilled. "I…I can't afford that."

The clerk pulled the herb sack away from her. "Then you're not buying it."

"Don't you think you could lower it some?" asked the woman, a pleading tone setting into her words.

"Nope." The clerk shook his head. "Store policy is store policy. Herbs like that don't come cheap. No money, no herbs."

The line behind us was growing. Maybe we should've moved to another checkout stand while this shopper argued with the cashier, but when I glanced about, all the other stands were either closed or serving a line of equal numbers. Staying put and waiting this little spat out seemed more practical.

"But I need those herbs." The woman reached for the bag, only for the cashier to place it behind the counter, beyond her reach. "My father needs them. No other store around here sells that plant, and it's the only medicine that will cure his illness."

"If you need it so badly, pay for it." The cashier kept his professional demeanor, but I could tell he was losing patience. Most of the shoppers lined up behind us were too.

"I don't have the money," she tried. "I'm on a very tight budget. Aren't you? The King's plumbing tax has wiped almost half my savings clean."

That changed the mood. I held my breath, knowing what would follow based on the cashier's sudden frown and squint. "Ma'am, are you _criticizing _King Edgar's policy?"

As a store employee, this man had to live by his job title and not become hostile with customers. Other customers though, were not obliged to remain courteous. A short-haired blond woman looked up from a newspaper stand, her attention raised by the clerk's not-so quiet question. "What the hell is wrong with you, cursing His Majesty for his good deeds and services?"

"I can't afford everything he demands," pleaded the brunette. Her words fell on deaf ears.

A man standing at a newspaper kiosk glared. "Where's your dignity? Where's your patriotism?"

"Uh-oh." Relm leaned in and whispered, "It's getting shitty. We should intervene, being the Returners we are."

Intervene? What the hell could we do? Did we have to play any role in this? "Relm, this is not our conflict. I'm not getting involved in disputes over Edgar's taxation. Would he want that? I doubt it. Neutrality is the best position for us right now."

Relm and Gau looked about, not sure if they agreed with my sentiment.

"Father could pass away if he doesn't get that medicine!" cried the woman, uncaring if she was the target of public ridicule. Her only goal was to get that herb. She grabbed the counter and tried vaulting over it. The clerk pushed her back, and the onlookers broke into a storm of curses and insults. Some of them grabbed the woman, pulling her away from the counter. Others pelted her with rolled up napkins and drinking cups, cutting her down with verbal insults. "Ingrate bitch" and "thieving traitor" were the most pronounced.

The inevitable happened. Armored soldiers pushed through the volatile crowd and shackled the dark-haired woman, even though she caused less of a disturbance than the others.

Amazingly, we stayed put in line, despite the rowdy crowd pushing behind us. When the soldiers removed the desperate woman from the store, the jeering onlookers dispersed, and the business flow resumed. We placed the herbs before the shop clerk.

I desperately wanted no part in this, but the shop clerk wouldn't have it. "Ah, you're Terra Branford of the Returners, friends of the King. Why didn't you give that ungrateful wench a piece of your mind when she disrespected His Majesty? Your opinion would really break through."

He brought me into this, so now I'd have to dig my way out. "It's not my job to manage conflict among his people. He's got peacekeepers and negotiators for that."

My logic was not rewarded. "Maybe it's not your profession, but it's still your sworn duty. Friends or not, he's still your King. After all he's done for this world, he deserves more allegiance than that."

I watched the clerk bag all our purchases. The irony was lost on him. He was loyal to Edgar with a one-dimensional mind, but failed to see that Edgar didn't want such blind devotion. He didn't want us to feel obliged to fight his battles with him when they didn't concern us. Edgar's grandiose stature as the Figaroan King and unofficial leader of the Returners was fast becoming a doubled-edge sword, bringing him unquestioning faith which vehemently attacked differing opinions, a good deed rewarded in the most terrifying of ways.

As Relm paid the clerk, I wondered, did that women even cut down Edgar as ruler? She hadn't explicitly said he was inept or unfair, only that his taxation was more expensive than she could afford. Regardless of her intentions, this was taken as a barb from the clerk and the other shoppers.

When the clerk produced Relm's change, I grabbed the bags and rushed out of the market, away from those who practically worshipped Edgar, a cult-like following he'd never endorse.

I knew how tense things had become in this town as of late. Sabin was cancelling blitz lessons to aide the construction workers, and from what I'd heard travelling about the streets, the farming community was facing a crisis which threatened to dehydrate their crops. All the while, the huge financial demands upon the public were taking their toll.

Now, things had fallen down another step, a large step this time. The people of Figaro City were at bitter odds with each other, and Edgar's duty was to remain objective and not take either side.

How much longer would this plumbing modification take? Could the people last until then?

_change in s & n_

I stood silent, questioning over and over again where I was. This wasn't Narshe, and I seriously doubted this was anywhere in Edgar's kingdom. After all, if armed vigilantes walking the streets was the norm in one of his towns, he'd surely know about it. These armed citizens weren't secretive with their gear.

All city-states in Figaro had their own local flag, which they flew in combination with the kingdom's flag. I'd read an atlas and recognized the local Flags of Quildern, Kohlingen, and South Figaro. No familiar banners flowed in the wind.

I came to a park, with central fountain, a brick pathway, and some benches along the side. Confused, I took a seat. It was time to think critically.

I breathed, organizing my thoughts into a structured flow. If I could get a fix on my captors, maybe I could narrow down possible locations. When I first awoke, I was greeted with hostility, as my captors knew plenty about my father's deeds. That alone would suggest they were familiar with Narshe.

But…why bring me here, wherever this was? To avoid getting caught? That didn't feel right. Given my family's reputation, my kidnapping would hardly raise eyebrows. They'd have no concern for a missing persons hunt, or the search for possible suspects. Taking me to parts unknown for such reasons would be inconvenient and pointless. And they'd not brought me here to confuse me. They presumed I'd chocked on ether in that lightless jail cell, hardly expecting my escape. While my present confusion worked in their favor, they knew nothing of it.

Were they Narsheans at all? My father's legacy was notorious, and could've spread elsewhere.

I looked about. A few unarmed folks strode here and there, anomalies among the soldier-types. Concentrating on the number of armed folks brought up a possible factor. This town was essentially in the hands of this…vigilante group. It was their base. I was here because of that.

But what did they want? They expected me or fall into a come in that cell, yet out here, these armed vigilantes carried themselves in a very serious manner. They meant business, too much business for my capture alone. Plus, the concept of a whole city rallying together just to get back at me was absurd. And claiming a town as they had would not happen instantly. This town had been in their clutches for quite a while.

I tightened my fist slowly. My captors mean business, and kidnapping me was just one facet of their plans.

I had one piece of this puzzle, but how many other remained? I still didn't know who they were, and where they'd brought me.

Sitting on this park bench would bring no answers. The only way to find out my location, my captors ID, and their greater interest was to explore this militia town. I stood and walked down the stone pathway. No armed locals stood nearby, so I had the perfect chance to do something which had just crossed my mind. I couldn't yet ID this group, but I could perhaps ID the man whose place I'd taken. Surely he had papers or documents on him, and they were now in my possession. I felt around my pants pockets and found a wallet. Inside was the very thing I hoped for, and then some.

I cringed upon reading the ID papers, for I was impersonating a man with a military rank. Maybe the term 'vigilantes' downplayed their full status. They were something more. That would explain their possession of military arms and armor in such abundance.

While I uncovered another grim detail about my captors, there was a silver lining to be found, if my hunch was correct. Monetary notes were stashed in the guy's wallet. I could easily make out the numerals, but the text provided nothing about my location. Regardless, the monetary units would come in handy. I could feel my stomach growling, a reminder that my meals for the past...amount of time in the jail consisted of stale bread slices. I needed real food.

Small things can be found by the perceptive. All the signs around the park were written in the SSD. No translations were necessary here in foreign-ville. I just had to keep my eyes peeled for a restaurant.

As I crossed the park, something made a hissing static noise, something close. Something on me, in fact. I recognized that sound too, the noise of a radio phone. This guy carried more than weapons and money.

I traced the noise to my wrist gauntlet. Half armor, half radio, this device would fit in perfectly if carried by Edgar's legions. One more sign of my captors' innovation, and a reason to fear them.

A red light flashed on the radio cuff, and a man's voice sounded through a speaker. "Jelmz, come in."

There was no point in answering. Jemlz was a dead man, and I'd simply lifted his gear. For all they knew, Jelmz took his gauntlet off in the bathroom and forgot it. My guard was up though, and I seriously doubted his companions would presume that.

I was right. The radio sounded off once more. "Jelmz, what's the status of the Narshe Coward?"

Despite my disgust of that moniker, I restrained my urge to say 'fuck you' in reply. Giving myself away wasn't even the last thing on my agenda. But the caller wanted an update on my status. If he didn't get one…

The image came to mind instantly. No answer would prompt someone to investigate my cell ASAP, only to find Jelmz's corpse in my place. This city would go on lockdown, if it weren't so already. My secret would be out. I had to stall, had to delay that as long as possible. And that meant I had to _be_ Jelmz.

Scanning the device, I found a button. Gut instinct told me this was the response mechanism. Having used radios before at Shedairah, this was like a second nature. I pressed the button, inhaling deeply. A little voice distortion might convince them Jelmz was answering. "Jelmz here. The Narshe Coward's out like a light. That blanket worked its wonders." I inhaled deeply and coughed, as person might when they had a sore throat.

"Are you okay sir?" asked the caller.

"Fine, just fine. I swallowed the wrong way just before you called." I hacked some more to convince him of this.

"So he's under? You think he's ready for the procedure?"

They did have plans for me after all, and were very close to pulling them off. "Not yet," I rasped. "It's not time yet. Let him rot and wilt some more." Again, I had to delay the inspection that would reveal my escape.

The caller was convinced. "Alright. That's all I need to know." There was a pause. I was prepared for another question. "You sound really hoarse. Is everything well?"

Though this conversation was informative, I wanted to end it quickly, before I was asked something which I could not answer. Thinking fast, I looked for the radio's battery compartment. "I hear static over your voice. I think my battery's dying. I'll have to replace it." I flipped open the door and pulled out the radio's power supply. The gauntlet clicked and went dead.

I shoved the battery into a pants pocket. This radio might prove useful later on. I had to find my location, and then somehow contact Figaro.

But for now, my priority was eating. One corner past the park was an obvious diner. It was only half full when I peered through the doorway. As long as I wore this mask and acted like the armed crowd, I'd not be discovered. A woman stood at the front desk, looking up and smiling at me. "Good evening soldier."

"Hi," I rasped in a mock tough guy voice. She didn't take note of my voice acting, but I sure noticed the scar on her neck. She was no rookie to combat. "Table for one, if you don't mind."

"Sure, we have plenty of seats around. Take your pick." She pointed about the dining room.

The perfect place was a table in the rear corner of the room. I could eat alone with my back to everyone else. I followed the woman to the far table and took a seat. She offered me the menu. "Have a look at our foods, and I'll be right back."

For the next several minutes I looked at the food selection. None of the dishes were familiar, another sign of being in foreign-ville. One particular issue came up as I looked the meal prices. What could I afford? Ordering something that Jelmz's money couldn't supply would expose me. When the women came back, I asked the inevitable.

Though I phrased it in a credible manner, as to blend in. "I'm new in town, and not familiar with you local currency yet. Do the notes' numbers suggest their value?"

"That they do." She smiled, but I did not ease up. Paranoia was a fitting term, for I'd never seen the face of my actual kidnapper, and only heard the voices of the harsh welcoming committee. For all I knew, this woman had mugged me as I stood in my backyard.

"Don't feel too ignorant. We get new people every now and then." She was up for a bit of chit-chat. "So, where are you from originally?"

I shook my head. "I'd rather not discuss that. I have a troubled, unhappy past." When you can, add truth to your lies. It makes your fibbing more authentic. The server was convinced. "I'll order now."

Though plenty of exotic and tasty-sounding dishes filled the menu, I went for one of the cheapest. I wasn't going to spend all of Jelmz's money in one place, not even for a meal. As my dinner cooked, I tried listening to nearby chatter, hoping to find any clues of where I was now. But this proved unsuccessful, and my grilled prawns with vegetable soup and root beer soon arrived before me. "Sir, if you're new here, there's a hotel in this building. This diner serves it." The woman pointed after bringing my order. "Just go past the restroom doors and you'll be in the lobby. I believe newcomers get a discount."

"I'll look into that," I said through the mask, waving off the server. Now I had to remove the mask to eat, another form of head covering was in order. Happily, Jelmz's coat boasted a hood. I pulled it over my head after carefully removing the mask.

The meal was delicious, a much-needed revitalization. I put the mask back on, paid the woman when she came around to get the empty dishes, and went for the hotel lobby.

She'd been right. Claiming to be new in town (I wasn't acting on this one) got me a discounted room. However, the clerk wanted a name. A pseudonym was the only option, but I couldn't be Jelmz here. Once they found his body, they'd follow any paper trail with his name in it. I used complete alias, paying the least I could for the cheapest rooms they offered. The dead man's money covered this too. The clerk presented a room key.

No one spared me a glance as I climbed stairs to the second floor. Inserting the key and turning it, I opened the door, went inside, shut it, and breathed. For the moment, I was finally alone. I drew the curtains of the room's only window and plopped into a desk chair. Now that I had a real chance to rest, mental fatigue was settling over me.

I was surrounded by potential enemies at the least, true one at most. Was that anything new? Growing up as the black sheep and whipping boy of Narshe, this paranoia was a feeling I knew too much for comfort. On the flipside, that experience hardened me for this. Were it not for my knowledge of chemical fumes, that ether blanket would've put me under by this time. A stroke of good luck had that masked Jelmz fellow enter my cell instead of the usual heavyset guy with that grating hoarse voice, at a time when I was ready to kill. My resourceful quick-thinking saw me through the radio conversation, not mention my face-to-face chat with the diner woman and hotel clerk.

But I couldn't carry on like this forever. I had to escape this place and somehow get a ride back to Figaro. But until I knew where I was, even the Returners couldn't help me. My first priority was to decipher my location.

Today was almost over. I'd done enough, escaping, 'trading' places with Jelmz and passing as him when need be. It was time to rest, despite the dangerous surroundings. Sleep would boost me, physically and mentally. The door was locked and this room was registered to a man who did not exist. I had some cover, and avoiding sleep was to take an ever bigger risk; permitting fatigue.

A warm soft bed never felt so inviting as this one.

_Change in s & n_

More chucks of scrap wood and metal flew towards my person, but my kalsahun blocked several of them, and my rangamju swatted away the rest.

Sindreo Geminsa's world had gotten smaller. The slave riot, which we ignited the previous day, cost him a several dozen troops and a munitions factory. Slaves had fled to break their association with him. They escaped in so many directions, tracking them down would be a daunting task by itself. With one less factory at his disposal, the Duke had even less resources to supply his efforts. Rumors circulated about additional slave revolts. We'd set off a chain reaction.

The Duke's only option was to halt his problems at the source, that source being us Nyufalng here in Albrook. He and his remaining loyalists were formulating some last-ditch plan to attack.

Another wooden plank sailed my way. With a downward swipe of the rangamju, the wood piece broke in two. I looked across the room at Yithadri. The Honored Shamaness stood between two scrap piles here in the aero-dome's maintenance chamber, her hands moving in very subtle motions, her eyes staring into the heaps of timber and steel. When she looked in my direction, and dented piece of armor plating was lifted from the pile. It twirled itself about, then shot off towards me.

I raised my oval shield to block the piece, only to see it lower in height. It was directed at my legs. With my reflexes, I jumped the shard, and it clunked on the floor behind me.

"Very good," praised Yithadri. "Your reflexes have come quite a way in the past few months."

"Your telekinetic powers are no slouch either." I pushed out with the kalsahun's domed surface. "Of course, you don't need mental powers to recognize improvement, or anticipate the Duke's next move."

"He's cornered, more or less." The Shamaness took a seat on a folding chair. "The slaves he once cowed are now killing his minions in rather dramatic fashions. Not that cowing them into submission required effort on his part. He just exploited their morality, and their fear of 'corrupting' themselves. "

"So ironic, when put it in that perspective." I swung down with the hammer face, than pulled upwards, using the scythe hook on the back end. "That which is incorruptible brings corruption to all around it."

"Gallisirva turned the other cheek, only to get bitch-slapped there too," recalled Yithadri of how the Duke executed the old Empress. "But at least the Marandan public is waking up, somewhat." Not everyone had taken to our philosophy. Only one person in the enslaved Asniele praised our concepts. But enough people had finally awoken. Those who refused to kill their oppressors would die swiftly and be forgotten. Those who fought had a chance to win and survive, and even if they perished, they'd take a few sub-human Duke lovers with them.

Yes, to fight was to risk mortality. But not fighting would _guarantee _it. Those who did not help themselves deserved no aide, lest they freeload off others' generosity. Duke Sindreo did that for years.

"What are the Duke and his minions up to?" I threw punches using the shield's rim.

Yithadri ran her fingers through her hair. "According to reports, they'll head this way. It's futile for them stay on their turf, since they pretty much suspect we infiltrated their domain and set off those riots. They're amassing." She paused intently. "And the Duke could very well lead the upcoming march."

"No shit?" I froze in a fighting stance. "If he dies, it'll be over. He has no heirs. His willful concubines were killed by rioters, for the very reason of ending his bloodline. It will end right there."

"That's true, _if_ the Duke leads the offensive." Yithadri stressed 'if'. "We've not ascertained that. It's merely speculation. We'll know soon enough."

There was no more information on this matter, but I had other curiosities. "Did anyone hear from the Major?"

"He spoke briefly, just before you and the others came back from Maranda earlier. He managed well in his task, but with the Duke's army coming our way, that's a secondary matter for now."

"Understood." I swiped high with the shield and stabbed low with that rangamju's spike tip. "How about words from Morris?"

The Nyufalng's second-in-command stood and waved her hands above the junk pile. "He's carried out another objective with success, as usual."

When I guessed which objective that was, Yithadri confirmed it. With the scythe-hammer reinforcing the shield, I rushed forward, as if to plough down one of the Duke's lackeys. "He's really making life miserable, though interestingly, the greatest inconvenience is not of his making."

_change in s & n_

The Atma weapon glowed in Locke's hand. As our spacious backyard served the purpose of a training area, we practiced swordplay out here. The glowing blade, more than half Locke's height, swung against the smaller blade of my Strato. My blade was lighter, but it still deflected the Atma strike.

Locke growled as he swung the giant sword. Maybe he was overexerting himself, holding the great blade in one hand while using a metal glove in the other. He was physically fit, despite lacking the excess muscles of Sabin.

The Atma chopped a horizontal 360 at chest level, with Locke snarling an inarticulate battle cry for extra effect. The circular cut landed against one of my own slashes, knocking my katana from my grasp. The sword flipped once before sticking itself into the back fence. Locke's face softened up. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"No hard feelings. It happens." I retrieved the sword.

As I pulled it out, Locke turned, thrust his Atma into the ground, and punched the dead tree in the backyard corner with his glove. Flakes of dried bark came loose, and he snarled angrily. "Fuck!"

He'd not been growling from a physical workout. The treasure hunter was pissed. Though I had some idea of why, I believed he'd contained that frustration. Had I been wrong? I sheathed my blade and went to his side. "What is it Locke?

"Don't get involved. You said that regarding Edgar's taxation, that it didn't concern us." He folded his arms and leaned against the tree trunk. "I suppose you were right on that one, but now, we have to get involved. We _are_ involved."

"In what?" I asked. "Be more specific."

He massaged his forehead. "Leonard's gone missing, and Edgar suspects foul play. Then, Umaro goes MIA, and Mog didn't free him. One is a Returner, the other is a close associate, and both disappear suspiciously." His eyes lit up. "Do you see it Celes? Do you see the pattern?"

Maybe he was getting paranoid, but he was onto something. Still, what was it? "You think someone has it out for us, and for our friends? Leonard has been unpopular for years." The lack of effort's on Narshe behalf were definitely infuriating, but was that alone the cause of Locke's rage?

"Don't forget the timing of their disappearances," he added. "It's rather convenient, especially when combined with certain other…happenings."

While his mind raced with theories, while mine was still grasping these vague suggestions. "What do you mean?"

The man cleared his throat. "As you know, I was in the capital yesterday. Joe returned from his vacation in South Figaro. I asked him about the annual summer fishing contest held there during this time of year. Joe was clueless. Maybe that's excusable, since he's a jewel merchant and not a fisherman, but the contest is hot news all over the town. For a tourist like him, locals would talk his ears off about it. It's impossible to ignore the contest happenings, unless you live under a rock."

This was confusing. "You said it's not part of Joe's interest, so what's your point?"

"Alone, it wouldn't be significant, but let's face it." Locke held up his thumb. "Joe already proved oblivious to this town's gemstone demand, claiming to sell his wares in Kohlingen instead, where the jewelry demand is meager at best. Secondly," Locke raised his index finger "when I inquired about his friend's business location, I was told that Bren left town for Spervang. Mind you, this was not long after Bren was ill with tapeworm. Finally, two close friends vanish while Joe's on vacation in South Figaro, paying no attention to local activities that out-of-towners like him might find interesting."

His tone was getting sharp. I didn't like it one bit. He wasn't just implying Joe was ignorant and dense. These implications were something else.

My fist tightened up. "Locke, what the fuck are you suggesting? Tell me, now."


	34. Extensive Depths

**Chapter 34: Extensive Depths**

So far, I'd been lucky. Lucky in that I recognized the stench of ether in that blanket, which prompted me to take that last stand. Lucky in that Jelmz, a smaller man than my usual jailor, entered my cell with a mask during that last stand. Lucky in that I killed him when no one else was watching. Lucky that I got a meal and hotel room at his expense the previous day.

But I knew such luck would eventually run out. The money in Jelmz's wallet certainly was. Knowing the value of this local currency, I estimated three more filling meals and maybe three more nights at the hotel were within my budget. And eventually, Jelmz's corpse would rot in the cell. It would stink, jailors would remove it, and discover the stiff wasn't mine. I had to bail before then.

Unfortunately, answers to my present location remained elusive. The inn provided nothing that would familiarize outsiders with this mystery place. This was a garrison, not a tourist attraction.

But the scar-necked server at the hotel restaurant said this place had newcomers frequently. There had to be some resources around here that would explain where 'here' truly was.

Presently, I utilized my best option; explore. A major street passed the diner/hotel, and it looked promising. With nothing else to do, I strode down this boulevard, mask on, eyes sharp, studying the surroundings. I also kept a very close eye on the armed locals. Feelings in my gut said gathering facts about them would prove essential.

I blended in well. No one stopped me for any reason. Though I tried listening to the random chat of passing locals, I couldn't gather much from this. I wouldn't try following someone around to hear a conversation's entirety. The likely hood of arousing suspicion through such a means was high, and that would bring a one-way ticket to exposure.

However, it was obvious that passive listening would carry no rewards. I'd have to interact with the locals, all of them possible captors who'd snatched me from my backyard.

So long as a husky, heavyset man with a gravelly voice wasn't around, I could relax, to a degree.

I continued down the main street. Though most of the shops were established buildings, one particular vendor was a dark-haired woman sitting before a tent between two structures. Unlike most passers-by, she didn't carry visible weapons. Taking this as encouragement, I approached the makeshift storefront. Maybe I could decipher this location by observing local goods.

The vending tent sold metal jewelry, earring, bracelets, pendants, and the like. "Ah, have a look young soldier." The middle-aged woman greeted me. "What would you like today?"

I spoke in a gruffer tone than usual, to disguise my voice. The mask helped. "Not really sure. I'm new in town." I maintained that single truth in my charade. "What would you recommend?"

Her eyes twinkled, not unlike the shiny ornaments for sale. "I have just the thing." She turned, sifting through a box behind her. "This design is very important to many of us, myself included. It's a reminder of my heritage." She produced a medallion, placing it on the table for me inspect.

I gazed on the round pendant. It looked like two intertwining hexagons.

Whatever expression I made was concealed by the armored mask.

The world was now a _very _different place than it had been a moment ago. As if things weren't fucked enough already. Here I thought I'd been reading fiction and legends, after presuming they were factual all those years. This was proof positive that it was factual all along, and I'd been right the first time.

I gulped down hard. Was I _there_? Why would they give a shit about my father's crimes against Narshe?

Maybe I wasn't there after all. Everyone I'd met so far spoke the SSD (Standardized Sayitheren Dialect). That wouldn't naturally occur in such an isolated place. There was plenty missing from this brand new puzzle, for I only had one piece.

"Do you like it?" asked the shopkeeper.

"It's an impressive design." I could inquire about my location without sounding odd. "Is this design local?"

"Hardly." The woman smiled. "It's imported, so to speak. But it's engraved upon local material."

Okay, I wasn't in that place. Its people were here, along with me…but why? Were they colonizing oversees? That would explain the militarization of this whole town.

But which town was this, and how'd they know about my father? Surely his malice wasn't so far-reaching as to affect _them_.

"So…you'll take it?" The merchant picked up the engraved medallion, ready to make a sale.

"Thanks but no thanks." I shook my head. "I'm really low on spending money right now." It was left unsaid that I already owned a pendant with that exact same icon. In fact, I'd taken it off and placed it on my nightstand, right before going outside to investigate the noises. I'd seen it in a book and asked a silversmith to replicate it. That book's content was anything but pure make-believe, as I'd just found out.

"Yes, if you're on a tight budget, luxuries like this can be forfeited." The women stared at the engraved image. "For me though, this isn't just aesthetic luxury. It's a sign of who I am, where I came from, and of a golden age long deceased. My nation once shined like a star of enlightenment. But now…" she trailed off, hanging the medallion with other necklaces.

I left the woman at her vending tent and considered her words. The more I learned, the more questions arose. I passed more armed locals, who paid me no attention. My attention was on the little I knew thus far.

I was caught in the middle of something…something big. Having been kidnapped from my own home, I was involved, whether I liked it or not. Like so many Narsheans, these…_other_ people detested my father, and blamed me for his shit more than any Narshean had. These people weren't from around here, at least _not all_ of them were. Maybe there were some natives around.

What did they want? Kidnapping me suggested beyond all doubts they were up to no good, big time. And I'd already deduced they were no bunch of disorganized amateurs.

One thing was for sure; they were dangerous. To learn more, I'd have to interact more.

A few blocks down the street was a warehouse. Two individuals stood outside the large open rollup door. One was another armed local, wielding an axe and shield with armored gloves and boots. But the other person was a bit more esoteric, for this setting anyway. She was a young girl about Relm's age, dressed in black jeans and a purple tunic top, her dark hair in a braid. For any other town, she'd blend in, but here, this girl stood out. Gut instincts on high alert, I felt she was someone of importance. I'd have to speak with her.

I paced closer as the two conversed. The armed man, years older than the teenager, spoke reverently to her. "Yes, I'll see to that. I'll be in touch when that's done." He bowed. "Thank you, Ms. Voldruine."

Ms. Voldruine. I had a name, and from the way he said it, she was just as important as I presumed. Soldiers didn't talk up to civilians, and certainly not minors like her.

As the armed man headed off, the girl noticed me. "Well hello there soldier. Say, are you preoccupied right now?"

"No, hardly. What's up?" This was a chance. She probably had a favor to ask of me, and I could learn more things by doing it.

She gestured at the warehouse entrance. "The stockpiles need sorting inside. The more hands involved, the better. If you're new here, I'll show you how it's done."

I hid the eagerness in my voice. Too much excitement could blow my cover act. "Yes, I'm new around here, but I'll lend a hand, or two. Whatever you need, Ms. Voldruine."

She laughed. "Actually, I'm just following directives from above."

So teenage girls weren't calling the shots around here. At least one thing made sense.

Inside the warehouse were racks and shelves of weaponry. These people were armed and then some. Ms Voldruine led me to a specific row of shelving. Another man was there, standing under a dimmed overhead light, most of his form clad in shadow.

"Here's how it works." The young girl pointed at the shelving. "The factory drops stuff off here and we go through it, sorting out the good shit from the defects. The good stuff gets loaded into a cart for the armory, and the bad gets returned for a tune-up. Pieces are organized by their type, swords, bows, shields, throwing stuff, you get the gist."

"Right." So far, I got enough. My ignorance wasn't showing through…yet.

"Also, we get a few shipments from elsewhere," announced the man in the shadows. "Sometimes, things we unload from the harbor come here, if they don't serve a purpose at the dock houses."

Harbor. I was in a town with a port. This place was coastal.

Ms. Voldruine wheeled up a cart. Inside were slots and hooks for the various weapon types. "Simple enough? Give it a shot."

The job was simple. Most of the weapons I handled were in prime condition, and I reflected on something else. Weapons of the exact same class had two very different aesthetic designs, differing in form but alike in function. Maybe one design style was imported, like the twin hexagon medallion. What did that mean? Was there some treaty or alliance in place between there and here?

I hung small shields upon hooks inside the cart, and various holes in horizontal beams perfectly fit spears, swords, and other shaft weapons. I'd already deduced these people had plans, both major and shady. My captivity was just a facet of those plans. They were fighting someone, or getting prepared for a military conflict obviously. But against who?

The tall man laid bow-guns inside a wagon of his own. "You know soldier, there's no need to keep your mask on all the time. Why not remove it?"

I looked at his tall figure through the mask's eye holes, thinking quickly. "I'd rather not. I've some scars, and wish to forget their origins. Advertising them is not on my to-do list."

The light above him darkened even more. "Damn," said the girl. "I'll flip the switch again." She left. All the lights went out a moment later, then came back on. The guy was revealed to me in lush, highlighted detail.

He was tall, well over six feet in height. His clothing was quite exotic; knee length boots with sweat pants tucked in, a fancy belt with an ornate buckle in front, fur tufts hanging off the sides, and engraved cloths hanging from the front and back, short black gloves without fingers, and a short-sleeved open-front shirt. A chest plate was visible behind. A small talisman hung from his necklace.

"Don't feel like you must hide your real self, my friend." The man placed more crossbows in the cart. "We're all about honesty with one another here."

Would my reluctance to literally unmask myself give me away? I tried stalling some more, without making such a fuss as to invoke suspicion. "Thanks, but I'm good. Maybe later, when I come to terms with it. It's a…psychological thing."

He gazed at me through his almond-shaped eyes, partly obscured his long black hair. "If you say so. Keep the mask on if it makes you feel better."

At that moment, I noticed something else about him. A bright blue jewel was fixed to a circlet on his head, a sapphire cut to a vertical oval. No, not quite. I saw no circlet band. The damned jewel was attached to his forehead somehow. It looked as though a third eye of cobalt blue was centered above his eyebrows. What did this mean? Was it a local custom or style of dress? Or had this too come from that place outside?

I'd have to find out. For now, I had a job to do, a job that might yield more information.

Between the three of us, we filled two whole carts with weaponry. The girl and the Mr. Blue didn't look winded, but I was feeling some level of tiredness. It had been a while since I did this much lifting and bending.

"All packed," announced Mr. Blue, sitting down on a bench. He massaged his sides, as though he felt cramps.

"Something wrong?" asked the young girl.

"Nothing major, just an old battle wound throbbing." The man removed his shirt and unfastened the plate cuirass. Maybe there were scars beneath.

Surprises were found at every corner here.

Not only were there scars on his flesh, the scars were _alive._ The bulging, grainy patches of skin pulsed like a heartbeat, veins puffing up and shrinking back into the scar tissue. To make matters worse, one particular scar across his naval region _lit up_, glowing silver, the veins flickering as they pulsated.

Did everyone here have scars that pulsed and glowed? Was this a local phenomenon, or something relevant to that other strange place?

Ms. Voldruine didn't mind the grotesquery. She acted like she'd seen it before, and probably had. It was no anomaly around here.

Mr. Blue rubbed his glowing raw meat before covering the spectacle again. "Like I said, you need not hide your scars. I'm sure they're less dramatic that mine. But whatever."

"Oh. I see you finished the job already." Another voice filled the storage house, that of a woman. "I finished cleaning the toilets quicker than expected, so I thought I'd join you in weapons packing."

"Sure. Why not." Mr. Blue pointed at me. "The new guy looks tuckered out, no offense."

"None taken." I sat on a wooden box and looked at the newcomer, not sure of what I'd find.

She was tall, shorter than Mr. Blue, but taller than the average woman. Terra and Celes weren't even that height. She had long brown hair, and her attire was a mix between casual and exotic; low cut boots, cropped jeans that exposed the lower half of her shins and calves, a midriff tank top, and some metallic jewelry, bracelets, armlets, and a choker necklace. It was a great outfit to show off her toned physique, but certainly not one of battlefield practicality.

And interestingly, she too had an oval gemstone set in her forehead, a vivid purple amethyst. But I didn't see any glittering, pulsating scars on her flesh, and her clothes revealed plenty of skin.

But when she got closer where the light was more intense, I wondered if Mr. Blue's light-up animate scars were less freakish. At least those could be covered up. Ms. Purple's entire skin was a surrealistic visual. Her flesh was the color of a tombstone, a faded gray. And her eyes were even more disturbing. They were solid gold, void of any optical features, and they were very reflective.

Did everyone with a forehead jewel have some physical abnormality? What else did these jewels signify?

Happily, Mr. Blue and Ms. Purple left my confused company, taking the loaded weapon carts and pushing them off to some other place. I didn't recall where, but was glad the two gem-headed…_beings_ had left my presence. What were they?

"You don't look so well." I still had company here in the storehouse. The teenage Ms. Voldruine observed my state. Maybe I was more disoriented from the others' visual appearances than I realized. The girl didn't bat an eye at the glowing scars and grayed-out flesh, but my confusion at such could expose me.

Fortunately, I had an excuse, and it was true. "I'm just tired. It's been a long time since I had such a workout."

"Maybe you should rest," suggested the girl. "If you're new here, you're just as new to happenings around these parts." She pulled something from her back jeans pocket, notes of some kind, perhaps. After scanning the paper, she looked up. "I'd chat more, but I must be off. It's rather eventful at the moment."

"Tell me about it," I agreed without knowing what she really meant. They were up to something, more than likely.

Ms. Voldruine waved farewell and left the warehouse. More troops outside greeted her as such. She was important, and quite popular around here.

I wondered, maybe I should talk with her again. Being 'new in town', she might agree to give me a little tour of this place. Doing such might clue me in about where this town was. I'd have to find the girl once more, but as she was quite popular, searching could be easier than expected. Someone could help me track her down if I asked. Maybe she'd recall me from this warehouse, but if she didn't, I'd blend in even more.

Friendly as these people could be, I had no doubts of their sinister intentions. They presumed I was one of them, not the enemy they'd somehow kidnapped and held in a lightless jail cell, intent on chocking with ether fumes.

The sooner I got out of here, the better. 'Touring' this place would me bring a step closer to that goal, a huge step. I'd just have to brace myself for possible encounters with more gem headed freaks, and maybe a heavyset man with a gruff, raspy voice.

_change in s & n_

More than half a year had passed since the giant leech wrought destruction in Cid's laboratory. Though the place was hardly restored, the Doctor had cleaned it up enough to conduct smaller, less complicated research experiments. He was doing one right now.

Charise had organized the team of geologists and hydrologists, who collected dirt samples from the farming community in the capital's northeastern sector. Unable to fully analyze the samples on the spot, the team dropped them off at Cid's moderately polished lab facility.

Along with a hydrology specialist, the ex-imperial researcher scanned the dirt samples, shifting them around beneath a microscope, rattling off observations in a scientific jargon.

Cid looked up from the scope. "It would seem true."

"What's true?" I asked, though I could guess what he meant.

"King Edgar, this soil is dry as the local farmers claimed. For one reason or another, water is simply not flowing to this region of town." Cid tapped the other dirt samples, all of them encased in jars.

So the angry farmer was right. I rolled my eyes at no one in particular. The soil was drying out for some reason, much quicker than it had in the past, even during this time of year. That meant if the plumbing didn't reach the farming districts soon enough, there'd no longer be a farming district at all.

The plumbing progressed at the exact same speed as before. I supplied enough of the tax with my own personal savings to keep the guild workers happy. The lines were _almost _to the agriculture center. But now, that steady pace didn't seem adequate enough.

My fist tightened, then shook, not rage but in nervous angst. Yet another trial had obstructed my path, and this one could easily render all my previous efforts moot. Why was the soil drying out in the farming community? And was it confined to that region alone? If this new happening could unfold in the farm district, it could surely happen elsewhere in town. What would that mean?

And knowing how much went wrong already, I had the question pre-planned.

What next? So many setbacks had come by now, ones I'd never imagined.

The solution of re-plumbing remained. The whole town needed an improved waterworks system, especially the agricultural area. Now, having learned the soil was rapidly drying out, this importance had increased tenfold. Completing the plumbing add-ons was more essential than ever.

The hydrologist looked up from the microscope. "Is that all you need of me, Highness?"

"Yes. You've answered my question." My voice carried no hint of the worries in my mind. "If you've other business, feel free to go about it."

"By the way King Edgar, the new military invention is almost ready for testing." Cid raised his eyebrows. In a different setting, I'd have praised him and his weapon dev team, but my head was elsewhere, on this newly discovered soil deficiency, and the next possible hindrance to the plumbing process.

"Your Majesty. I found you." It was the rugged voice of Paul Edderbricht. The Lieutenant approached with a tense look on his face. "Sire, you are wanted at the castle, immediately. I suggest your bring a voice amplifier."

Once again, I was thrown for a loop. "What? Why?"

Paul gestured to the lab exit. "You'll see, when we get there."

_change in s_

They stood in rows, a crowd before the southern entrance to my castle, blocking off that portion of Citadel Boulevard with their numbers, their faces twisted into expressions of resentment.

I gulped down hard, facing the gathered mob of city residents through a crack between the doors. Mounted soldiers with pikes walked back and fourth, and combat walker units made their presence known. Still, the civilians weren't backing down.

Cyan came to my side. "King Edgar, they wish to speak with you. How much longer will you delay the inevitable?"

Behind him stood my wife. "Dear, the longer you wait, the more volatile they'll become."

"I know, and I'm not holding out on purpose. I just…" Words escaped me for a moment or two. "What do I say to them?"

"The truth, Sire. What else?" Chancellor Pierre's answer was simple, much simpler than my inner dilemma.

But what else could I do? I was above and beyond lying to my people, even if their faith in me was decreasing. I'd told nothing but the full complete truth when addressing previous concerns, and these appeals failed miserably. I looked through the closed doors again. All that blocked the mob from storming up the front stairs was a line of shielded, armored troops. I recognized Rodney Hayne as one of them, and Jerom Frennard was one of the mounted soldiers, as was Deanne Sarholme. No electrode rods or tears gas bombs had been unleashed…yet.

"If you're going to speak with them Your Highness, it must be now." Paul motioned outside. If I waited, the crowd would become unruly, necessitating electrodes and gas bombs. My presence was all that could keep such from happening.

I exchanged glances with my wife, the Chancellor, the General, and the Lieutenant. "Very well. I'm going out."

Cyan took one door, Paul took the other, and the doors were pulled open. I was now on full display for the gathered protestors. Their voiced immediately doubled in volume. The shield wall increased their efforts, pushing back the amassed locals. With a deep breath, I stepped forward, voice amplifier in hand.

The voices blurred against one another so much, individual words were lost. However, signage carried by many of the gathered locals illustrated their worries clear enough. Concerned farmers weren't the only people swarming the wide stairs. Various other townsfolk were present, and their worries didn't pertain to their professions. These concerns were the very thing I feared the most, and suspected ever since the tax intake began dropping; financial worries.

Only my voice and words could silence the disorderly shouts and yelling. I flicked a switch on the voice amplifier and raised it to my lips. "People of Figaro City, I fully understand your concerns. I know the construction of this new plumbing system has been anything but fast and simple. I should know more than any of you, for I'm the one in charge of it." The voice cacophony lowered some. "Rest assured, you can be grateful such a responsibility doesn't rest on your shoulders." I did not speak with envy, but with honesty, a truth to show my despairing subjects that their glass wasn't totally empty.

Maybe some considered these words, as the crowd remained silent. I embellished my appeal. "Please understand, this project is nearing completion. The taxation will be null once all the new pipes are in place and covered up. I know it's been a long-standing financial burden for you, to pay the increasingly high waterworks tax," I said empathetically.

Not all were sold on this honesty. "King Edgar, I had to forfeit my teenage son's graduation presents to pay your water bill!" screamed a woman angrily. "And you still ask that I pay _MORE!_"

A younger man further down voiced his own frustrations. "I've got a kid coming in a few weeks, and that's a small fortune by itself. I can't afford both your tax and child care. It's one or the other, Your Majesty." When he finished, the crowd erupted once more. Anyone with money problems was surely unloading them on the perceived cause; me.

Until now, I'd concealed my inner turmoil from the general public. Showing weakness so openly would taint my reputation. But now, with my credibility hanging in the balance already, withholding this truth might not make any difference. Maybe sharing it would ease some of the mistrust. "People, your concerns are normal and expected. I fully relate. Paying this enormous tax is burdensome for you all. I know this because it's been a great burden upon me to impose it. We're all in the same boat."

That was it. I withheld no more. The public knew I was no less vulnerable than them, despite my riches and regal stature. I was no supernatural force immune to doubts and fears. My subjects understood now that I had plenty of both.

But that was probably insignificant to them right now. Another man raised his fist. "You've said that before. Why should we believe you now?" More people echoed his question, and shield carriers pushed forward, repelling the doubtful public.

More shouts filled the wide street, echoing off the castle walls. I gazed at the crowd without eyeing any one face in particular. That final straw was close at hand. If I still had anyone's trust, I'd not have it much longer.

Suddenly, a person pushed past the shield wall, the troops providing no resistance. A quick gaze at this person explained why. It was Jerom, dismounted from his chocobo. The Colonel leaned in close to my ear. "King Edgar, we must disperse this crowd. I got reports of another group gathering just blocks from here, a group of your most staunch supporters, and they're heading this way."

"Damn." One didn't need a royal education like mine to foresee the inevitable results. Jerom spoke of obsessively devout believers in my name. Such people would have no respect for the skeptics gathered before me, and the skeptics would not back down. My people would be at one another's throats, the root of the conflict being my character. And my duty was to avoid taking sides.

Jerom saw things my way. We had to break up this crowd, to diffuse any potential mayhem before it started. I wouldn't let myself envision what would transpire if the two groups met face-to-face. "Do it Colonel. We must keep the peace." Granting him such authorization, I gave him the voice amplifier.

"People, you've had your moment here." The Colonel's voice boomed naturally, and the amp multiplied the authority in it. "You must leave these castle grounds now! If you do not, you'll be arrested and removed by force." Shield carriers drew their electrode batons, and the combat walker units readied their gas bomb launchers, sure signs the army wasn't bluffing.

I cast a somber look at the Colonel. We could not bluff. Public order depended on our actions. However, using such equipment on my own people was something I wanted to avoid at all costs. Such action was a staple for Gestahlian types. If I ever stooped to that level…

Somehow, while I'd been lost in thought, the amassed mob thinned out. The shouting lost its volume, as there were fewer people to create noise. The soldiers were escorting away those who wouldn't leave on their own.

I sighed. A clash between skeptics and believers in my name had been averted, and the presence of said believers proved that some people still sang my praises. But the skeptical crowd was growing. This was only their first organized activity. There would surely be more. I'd have to prepare accordingly…if I could.

No, I had to. There was no other option. Even with two missing friends and an elusive breed of monsters to search out, keeping the peace within this capital was an absolute essential. I couldn't finish the town's new piping network only to watch the city fall into chaos, thus rendering the plumbing accomplishment void.

_change in s & n_

"Ms. Voldruine?" repeated another masked soldier. My headgear was not unique in the slightest. "Sorry man, but I don't where she's at."

"It's all good," I said without complaint. At least she was well-known. My asking for her didn't sound suspicious. "I'll manage. Thanks."

The other man went about his business, pushing a huge cart down the block, leaving me to myself on the street corner. After having dinner at the inn's restaurant again, I set out looking for the young girl. Without her presence, exploration was the best option. I'd do more of it.

Instead of going back to the weapon warehouse, I went in a different direction. Most of the buildings along this stretch of road were apartments and smaller businesses. After several blocks I found what looked more promising, a market plaza.

Unlike the medallion merchant from earlier, this place was quite well established. All the stores were inside buildings here, not in carts or vending tents. Curiously, a large pile of crates was stacked before an alleyway entrance. Some locals placed a few more containers on the package tower before heading back to the storefronts. Another pair of hands reached from inside the alley and removed a crate from the pile. They were stocking a load to be moved elsewhere in town. Having seen such at the arsenal warehouse, this was my best guess. I'd explore this.

As I neared the alleyway, a rowdy male voice spoke from within. "Sweet. All this shit to load up. I might work up a sweat. Not that it matters. It's bath night."

"Oh, that time of the month already? Shit. Time flies," came a second voice, one that held familiarity, but from where, and when? The second man voiced business-like comments next. "Just keep the pile organized when you load the shit on the wagon. I'll check the receiving yard. See you there."

This second voice was utterly hoarse and gruff. Was it…maybe…

I tensed up and held my breath. That voice was unique, and could very well belong to my regular jailor, the one who Jelmz replaced the day before. Maybe now I could observe that heavyset, raspy tormentor in the daylight. Half of me didn't want to though. It might distract me and blow my cover.

Regardless of my wants, footsteps grew distant. The raspy man was leaving, heading away from my position. Our paths wouldn't cross…for now. The other man remained in the alleyway. I could hear his mumbling and the bumps of crates as he stacked them alongside one another.

And there were plenty of crates. I counted at least twenty, and those were just the visible ones. What was inside them? Where were they going? What was the purpose of transporting so many boxes? To answer these questions, my best option was to converse with the man around the building corner. My mask still in place, I stepped up to greet him and offer a hand.

Maybe I should've expected something like this. Mr. Blue's glowing, pulsating scars and Ms. Purple's grey flesh and gold eyes could've foreshadowed this. At least those two were primarily humanoid.

The latest asset in freaksville had yellow skin much like a banana peel, and his dark brown hair was wound into a braid. His arms and chest were carved from sheer muscle, and his nails were more like claws. His teeth were plenty sharp as well. Two horns jutted slightly outwards then steeply upwards from his forehead. His garb was simple; armored wrist cuffs and bicep rings, a chain necklace, and spiked shoulder plates. His body armor was more intricate, consisting of a half-plate covering his back and two straps that formed as X upon his chest. At the X's midpoint was a domed circular plate.

And this was just his upper body. His lower half was even more surreal. Thick fur surrounded his waist and pelvic region, and his legs really took the cake. Not two but _four_ muscled limbs stuck out from the coarse hair mass, each with two claw-like toes on the end. Their organic surface looked reptilian but their movement patterns were more insect-like. The front legs bent forwards, and the rear legs bent backwards. Additionally, all the legs could be articulated to the side, like a spider's or locust's. Such a being like this would have tremendous leaping and stomping abilities.

The inevitable happened. While I took in the freak's appearance, he noticed me standing there. "Howdy do soldier?" His friendly greeting hardly jibed with his visual appearance. He was shorter than me, as his legs were all bent, but I didn't feel like the bigger man, even if I was the _actual_ man.

But, at least one feature about this thing made sense. An oval gemstone was fixed to his forehead between the upward curving horns, this one a vivid green emerald that reminded me of Terra's eyes. Those were a much more pleasant sight than this…Mr. Green Thing before me.

Since he'd addressed me, I had to respond. "Hi. That's a lot of boxes you've got here." I pointed at the crate mountain. Any distraction was welcome. "What's in all these containers?"

"Essentials." The weird creature grabbed a stack of two crates and piled them into a wide, deep handcart. "Stuff you don't leave home without."

"Right." Whatever the contents, Mr. Green Thing stressed their importance. They were for something big, but I still didn't know what. It was something obvious to the locals, and if I asked the question, I'd lose my cover. I'd been thinking like that ever since killing Jelmz and taking his gear. Paranoid was a fitting term, and looking at the quadruped Mr. Green Thing loading boxes into the wagon, my nerves were getting another dose of shock treatment.

"So, are you gonna do something, or just stand there?" This thing picked up on my inactivity. I suddenly felt more winded than I'd been all day.

"I'm tired. I almost worked up a sweat this afternoon, and I'm not used to all this…excitement." Again, I was truthful.

"Suit yourself." The creature didn't argue. "Maybe you should go home."

'Home' was the inn, for now. My real house was in Narshe. Mere homesickness was preferable to this…confused paranoia. I'd been running on that ever since waking up in the dark jail cell. And seeing this thing before me suggested freaksville had plenty more oddities to throw my way. Of course, no one else saw it in those terms. This being was in clear sight of many people, and not one batted an eye. He was a regular.

"You know, I'll take up that idea." With legs weak and my head spinning, it was time for bed, early though it was. Without a word, I left the thing to his cart-filling task and went back to the inn.

I had enough money for a couple more days. But eventually I'd have to leave. Maybe I could try living on the streets of this armed villa. If it was indeed a garrison, militarized locals would patrol the streets at all hours of the day and night. I could pass as one of them, but only for so long. I'd need sleep sooner or later.

Now wasn't the time for brainstorming. I'd learned enough and met plenty of new…acquaintances for the day. Tomorrow would be the time for planning my next move. I entered the hotel without hassle. After closing the door and locking it with all three bolts, I pulled the curtains. Solitude was golden.

_change in s & n_

After a filling breakfast, I left Quildern and headed for the capital. Locke was in charge of our shop for today. He needed a suitable diversion from all his ramblings, and so did I. His 'theories' about Joe were unbelievable. Did Locke even believe such outwardly scenarios?

Maybe he didn't. I perhaps took him more seriously than he took himself. He'd been very stressed as of late, worrying about the consequences of Edgar's taxation, and about Umaro and Leonard missing. Maybe his ramblings were just a way to let off steam and calm down. Locke's observations were true, but there was no proof of what they (according to him) suggested.

The train sped through Figaro City. I'd start my day in the town with a visit to the dojo. When the railcar stopped along the town's northern edge, I disembarked and headed for Sabin's training hall. I figured I'd see Relm or Gau inside.

I was right, the young man was wrestling with the blitz master, and the girl sat on a bench watching them, Interceptor curled up at her feet. But there was something else. Next to Relm were two large travelling bags on the floor. Usually, the teens brought nothing larger than their standard knapsacks.

"Relm. What's up?" I took a seat next to the Thamasan girl. "What's with the bags? Are you travelling?"

"Hi Celes." Relm winked, averting her eyes from the grappling demo. "You could say that. Gau and I might do a little travelling," she paused intently "to a new place of residence."

"Huh? What do you mean?" I tried grasping her implications. She and Gau had lived in the student dorms of their youth academy for the past three years, ever since the school had been established. Edgar personally oversaw their enrollment.

Relm reached down to stroke the dog, who gave me a single glance as he rolled over. "The academy's closing its dorms for the rest of the summer."

I was speechless, and almost fell off my seat. "Why?"

"Summertime is not essential to the school program. Some students go home for that season. And since the academy needs tax funding to stay open and house students during that time, it's another cost to the average taxpayer. Thus…"

"Wait a moment!" I blurted out, grasping her words. "Are you saying the dorms are closing down because tax money is scarce and should fund the plumbing project instead of student housing?"

"The dorms also use lots of water, for the bathrooms and showers. Water is also scarce right now. The school admin believes the dorms less of a necessity than the farms and what not, and are giving up their share to provide the farms an extra boost." Relm shrugged. "So to answer your question, yes. The school's closing down so the tax money and water can be better used elsewhere."

"For now, Marielle and I have agreed to offer lodging." Sabin stood up from his kneeling stance. "Our cottage is not extravagant, but it's cozy and clean enough for their liking."

"That's good news." I tried sounding positive. Maybe this wouldn't be a setback. Relm said that summer school wasn't mandatory, and it would allow tax money and water to go where it counted most. Considering all the trials Edgar faced up till now, this was almost nothing.

Sabin and Gau continued their drill, until Sabin pointed at the clock. "Ten minutes until lunchtime. I think we can call it a day."

"Right." Gau wiped his face. "I'm getting hungry."

"Me too." Relm rubbed her stomach. "Hey Celes. Wanna join us for chow?"

"Why not? I'm here, and your lunch talk has wet my appetite."

The teens left their bags in the dojo. They'd come back later in the day to claim their luggage. Interceptor was agreeable to staying in the dojo yard while Relm was out. Sabin left for business elsewhere in town, like purchasing guest room supplies for his new 'roommates'.

The teenagers and I caught a chocobo carriage and rode south along a major street. A few miles down was a bakery. Though it was crowded inside during this lunch hour, there were vacant outdoor tables. We took seats there upon ordering.

As we finished up our lunch, we saw two men sitting on a bench near the street corner. They were talking about something, though I couldn't make out their words. I was about to leave the patio, until one of them, a redhead, stood forcefully and screamed to his partner. "Fuck that!"

The second man, a blonde, stood slowly. "Is that your attitude now? Suddenly I'm the asshole for trying to help this town through a crisis?"

We eyed the spectacle. "What do you supposed this is about?" Gau cringed at the arguing townspeople.

"Take a wild guess." Relm's voice was edgy, though less sharp than the feuding locals'. "What happened the last time we saw citizens arguing like so?"

I bit my lip. The last time I'd been the unwilling audience to such was in the craft supply store, overhearing a couple clash about Edgar's taxation policies. A pit welled up in my stomach. "Here it comes."

The blonde man scowled at the redhead. "We should sacrifice that for the good King. It's our civic duty as Figaroan citizens. You're just too self-centered to look beyond your petty wants."

"Petty wants?" snapped the redhead. "This is our _company_ we're talking about, our _business_. And how many others have sacrificed bits of their life to his cause? What's that accomplished? Nothing!"

He was about to leave, but the other man grabbed his wrist and pulled him back. "That's not true!" he nearly shouted. "He's made progress since enforcing the relinquish-excess-water policy. With our contribution, we can help that much more."

"Forget it." The first man yanked his hand free. "I didn't come to this city to watch its ruler trip on his own feat while charging us out the ass for it, and I'm done waiting around for Edgar's next 'development'."

He pressed the other man's button. "THAT'S _KING_ EDGAR, you disrespectful shit! He runs this nation, and you will address him with the proper reverence. Do you understand?"

"No," snapped the red-haired man. "I don't understand how someone so educated can be so incompetent. Our money's been thrown into the furnace while he gorges on his own private water supply in that safe castle of his, asking us to make 'yet another sacrifice'. And it's to improve a city he can't even manage. You know what? Consider this my resignation. Today, I quit. I'm leaving town."

"You stingy bastard. You'd better not leave this town. We have a job to do." The blonde man reached for the other man's arm, but the redhead pushed the grabbing hand aside with force.

"What are you, a fuckin' customs agent now? You can't stop me. Why don't you just stay here and mind your little civic duty. Go ahead and give up your life savings to the king of the klutzes. And while you're at it, give up your nut sack too."

"Son of a bitch," growled Relm, almost drowned out by the two men some thirty feet away. Faces appeared in the windows of nearby establishments. The teenage girl looked at me. "Celes, I think it's time we intervened. Terra discouraged that last time, but I hope you're more sensible."

Locke wasn't the only Returner who'd zealously back Edgar on every detail, even if the King himself didn't wish it. Relm was heading down that path, and she sought to drag me along.

"Relm, I am sensible." I placed my hands on her shoulders, standing between her and the argument beyond. "Terra was right. This is not our conflict. I don't live here, and you're not paying tax money. We have no say in what happens on this matter. And Edgar wants it that way. He'd never drag us into his battles that don't concern us. He wouldn't want us intervening here."

The angst-filled girl stared at me, then at Gau. The boy kept a neutral face, taking neither her side nor mine. Maybe if he set the example, she'd take hint.

"We're friends with the King of Figaro Celes, comrades-in-arms." Relm looked up. "If you won't do what's necessary, I will." Her hand pushed mine away.

"Relm, don't! Relm!" But the girl had already shoved past me, moving too fast for me to grab her and pull her back.

The next words from her mouth announced her decision. "Hey redhead! Why don't _you_ try killing magical dragons and whatnot? No 'king of klutzes' could accomplish that. You owe your very life to what King Edgar pulled off more than three and half years ago."

For a second, the skeptical man was caught off guard. "A school girl?" he stammered. "What the hell's a school girl doing in this affair? You don't pay obscene amounts of tax money to fund the King's ineptitude."

"I'm no regular school girl!" Relm spat. "I'm Relm Arrowny of the Returners, and friends of the King. Show him credit and watch your mouth." Her eyes locked a glare on the man, and I rushed over, just in case she moved beyond harsh words.

"Oh, real class act," snorted the red-haired man into blonde's face. "Using the King's closest chums to back your argument. You're so credible motherfucker."

Relm's eyes narrowed. "Grab her Gau, if she explodes," I whispered to the young man. I was ready to grip the girl's wrist if she dashed for the two men.

Still, she only used words for now. "I'm not doing it for your partner!" she almost screamed, furious at being downplayed. "I'm doing it for the King!" Sensing us beside her, the raging Thamasan back-stepped a few paces.

"You will not leave this town!" snarled the blonde man, grabbing at the redhead's arm once more.

"DON'T TOUCH ME YOU PRICK!" The first man jerked his arm away, and in one smooth motion, swung his elbow upwards into the second man's jaw. The blonde was sent reeling, but regained himself and charged his companion. The two fell upon the wooden bench, which broke under their combined weight.

Relm took a step forward, before I grabbed her wrist and yanked her back. "What is the matter with you?" As various passers-by shouted in response to the street fight, I had to raise my own voice. "Relm, this is none of our business."

"He's not just insulting Edgar, he's trying to commit tax evasion," Relm argued. "That's a crime, in Edgar's own words. We can't tolerate that."

"Relm, we're not the law in Figaro. There are troops and peacekeepers for that." Speaking of them, mounted soldiers appeared, pushing through the crowd. Infantry troops pulled the feuding workers apart, placing them both in shackles while the public looked on. "See that? It's their job, not ours."

Relm watched as both men were placed in different wagons. "Celes, we have to stick up for Edgar. We're his _friends_. It's what we do. How would he feel if he saw you passively sitting on the sidelines, doing nothing when his reputation's at stake?"

Her tone wasn't much different than Locke's when he'd asked that same question. The same answer was the best. "Edgar would feel happy knowing we weren't involving ourselves in affairs that don't concern us."

Would Relm understand? She was fifteen years younger than Locke, but less obsessive, and perhaps more open to giving up whatever tendencies she might've held. She gazed down and took a deep breath as soldiers dispersed the crowd. Gau held the young girl's hand for comfort.

For now, I succeeded. Relm said nothing more about this topic, and we went about business in town. But she was thinking about it to some degree, I could tell. I had questions of my own. Now that Edgar's subjects had finally come to blows over his credibility, what was next?

Maybe I didn't want an answer.

_change in s & n_

"Enemies coming to our way," Chithagu rasped.

"Yes, they are, and we're bracing for their arrival. We'll give a traditional Nyufalng welcoming," I joked.

The opposition had made its move. Knowing an outside entity had triggered revolts within his domain, Sindreo Geminsa ordered the remains of his followers to march east. But there was an extra catch; The Duke himself was leading this march, instilling faith in his remaining believers to give their all and crush this enigmatic threat.

We'd fucked with his hubris, just as we intended. This march was not surprising in the least. Preparations were underway, and not just here in Albrook's capital. The mechanics at the aero-dome had built additional air vessels for rapid transport of larger parties. Just before dawn, a strike force piled into said airships and headed west. The other four Pung Thoshidai were among its members. Their objective was to launch a series of hit-and-run guerrilla attacks on this last unit of Duke-lovers before they left Marandan territory, starting the assault as early as possible. The patrols guarding Maranda's eastern edge had all been pulled back to the capital, to quell the riots we set off two days back.

Our team would strike the enemy and retreat to the airships, luring the Duke and his minions closer to our presence, stopping and attacking a short time later, repeating the method with a different strategy. By the time the Duke's forces reached Albrook, nearly half of them would be dead, if not more. This was a battle we intended to win.

Strike your enemy at their weakest point, strike when they do not expect it, strike when their backs are turned, hit them with a variety of methods at once. Battles aren't won with polite, chivalrous measures. They are lost from of such practices.

Chithagu and I stayed here, prepping for the Duke's arrival. He himself was not a target of the guerrilla party. Their job was to weaken his forces and lure him here, away from any potential support and resources. Albrooker land would be Sindreo Geminsa's grave.

Bright lights whizzed past as we sped through the underground railway tunnel. The railcar slowed to a stop, and the two soldiers manning it for the hour unlatched the doors for us. We were hauling yet another cache of armor to the palace, masks, breastplates, boots, plated vests, neck guards, gauntlets, you name it. I pushed a wagon of protective gear out onto the boarding platform, with Chithagu close behind me, carrying a second load on his back. As the rail car shut its doors and went on its route, I pushed the cart into a lift. While Chithagu was physically able to carry his load up the stairs, he chose to ride with me.

The palace district was just beyond the stairwell. We pushed our loads down the sidewalk and through the gates, en route to the palace armory. Inside the weapon storage was Ruqojjen, his favored daukaisna in his hands. The jagged sword blade sliced the air with precision and speed. He noticed us while slashing in a wide circle. "Fantastic, more upgraded gear for the showdown."

"Tell me about it." I found the nearest shelf and began unloading the wagon's contents. "We've been shuttling back and forth all morning, filling this place with armor caches."

"Monotonous," said Chithagu, using a lengthy word I thought was beyond him. He too was getting bored of the repetition.

Still, I wasn't complaining. I had a task and understood its purpose. "I'm doing my part," I acknowledged "but I'm kinda restless. I'd like to know what's happening on the frontlines."

Ruqojjen spun the long sword in his right hand. "Ajalni, funny you should mention that. Not fifteen minutes ago we got a radio message from those in the field."

I paused in the midst of shelving a mail cuirass. "Oh? What's up?"

"Everything's going as we envisioned, if not better," said the Nyufalng chief, shuffling back and thrusting forward, an evade-and-strike combination. "The Duke's goons never saw the first ambush coming. Our parties attacked from different sides of the Duke's camp. While one group got their attention, another group struck from behind. When they learned our battle plan, our side split, and the Duke's force gave chase. No casualties on our side yet, though we've suffered quite a few injuries, major ones."

"And?" I inquired, filling the shelf with armor vests and protective masks. His voice implied a response to this problem.

"All the injured were gathered into a single air vessel." The Shenthaxa gripped his weapon in a side stance. "They're coming back to heal up and maybe get some augments, then go back out to resume the skirmishes. Baokiydu's with them. He'll provide more detailed updates when he gets here. Yithadri's expecting the wounded arrivals."

I filled another rack with gauntlets and armored cuffs. "Sounds like you're all on top of each matter."

He slashed downwards and crouched, then stabbed upwards with a leap. "As we should be, and you can help transport the energy suppliers for the augmentations."

I stared at the two latest armor loads. My cart was almost empty, but Chithagu's was still full, and he wouldn't unload them, let alone arrange them properly. Such was beyond his mind. "Sure, but I have to eat first." My stomach growled to emphasize this. "I'll get some grub when I finish these two loads."

"Right. You can't wage war on an empty stomach." The daukaisna was swung about in more sideways motions. "In fact, make these your last loads, then wait here for Baokiydu."

"Don't forget lunch," I joked, shelving protective boots. Ruqojjen continued his swordplay drill, and I noticed the daukaisna's blade was glowing. His spirit energy was filling the weapon. This could only suggest one thing. "Getting ready for the dual?"

When he looked at me, his eyes were aglow with a yellowy green radiance. "The Duke's army is formidable, but the Duke alone also poses a threat. Yes, I plan on engaging him personally. I've been preparing for the last few days." The glowing blade left a trail of lime green brilliance as he swung it about. "He's surely been prepping for this assault, so it's rational that I do likewise, charging my essence as much as possible."

"A wise plan, as usual." I pulled more armor pieces from my wagon and shelved the accordingly. If there was one person in the Nyufalng who could best Duke Sindreo Geminsa in a swordfight, it was the chief himself. The Pung Thoshidai could take him on, but with his army swarming our turf, their hands would be full. Besides, powerful though they were, the Pung Thoshidai owed their abilities to Ruqojjen and Yithadri. Those two personally selected which of the Nyufalng would bear the Pirusymn stones, and played a role in the stones' very creation. Unlike the Nyufalng's greatest augmentation recipients, Ruqojjen and Yithadri didn't need Pirusymn stones to kick major ass.

Before long, my cart was empty. I started unloading Chithagu's, while he just squatted and made noises. The High Shenthaxa did more exercises, drills that used footwork to increase the reach and power of sword strikes. While hanging armor bracelets on shelf hooks, I thought of one more angle. "Did the major report in?"

"No, but I'm not surprised." The daukaisna was swung upward, with Ruqojjen throwing a side kick afterwards. "If he didn't join the ambush party, he's preoccupied here."

"Got it." The Major was tasked with a certain duty. He'd given a brief progress update two days back, but hadn't checked in since. There was no hurry, since the Duke's approach was the prime objective right now. After writing Sindreo Geminsa's epitaph in blood, feces, and urine, we could inspect that other matter in full.

_change in s & n_

The snow crunched beneath my boots, and my breath created mist in the cold hilltop air. I looked about the snowfield. Not quite a month ago, Leonard and I sat down in this very permafrost, and I finally told him the secret of my hybrid ancestry. It was a joyful experience.

But now, I was here for a much different purpose, to get answers that we desperately sought. Maybe I'd learn nothing from this, but with so few options, there was nothing to lose. When I last spoke with Mog, he said Umaro might've come to these caves in the northern hills. There was no guarantee I'd find the yeti, but as long as there were options available, I'd pursue them.

After the snowfield with various rock formations, a single bridge led to the precipice. The snow was light this time of year, and plenty of rock outcroppings were reachable. I used them to scale down the cliff surface and access 'Umaro's cave', as we called it. We'd first encountered the yeti here.

Unlike the caverns within Narshe, this cave was not a functional mine, not now at least. Old rail tracks and scaffolds described a previous mining operation that was long shut down. The metal beams and panels were covered with fungus, and some of them had rusted. However, there were functional lights, dim as they were. I'd brought my own flashlight, in case they gave out.

There was no map display in this abandoned mine, but it was much smaller than the working mines, and I'd memorized the layout. There were few forks in the main path, and most of them dead-ended or looped back around shortly after branching off. I walked through the cave's major hallway. "Umaro?" I called, my voiced echoing off the stone ceiling above. I got no answer. After two more corners, I tried again. "Umaro, are you here? It's me, Terra." Again I got no reply, but wasn't giving up just yet. I still had a few more chambers to search.

The light was getting dimmer as I advanced, but I could still see enough to avoid using the flashlight. As I descended a ramp, I heard some rustling noises echoing in the distance. Was that him? Getting closer, mumbles became audible. These sounds fit with Umaro's character, but I had to be sure.

Suddenly, as I neared a corner, a bright light flashed on, and from that brilliance came a shadow. The dark form stretched out on the ground before me. Maybe I'd found him. "Umaro? Is that you? It's Terra."

I got no answer, not a verbal one at least. But the figure reacted to my words. Its shadow turned, and took off running, the light moving with it. Footsteps echoed, too light and fast to be the yeti's. This wasn't Umaro.

I had but one second to make a decision. I'd almost come face-to-face with someone or something. The other party knew of my presence and didn't want to be found. Why?

My feet took off before I concluded my thoughts, carrying me after the echoing steps ahead. I knew this cave's structure, and wasn't about to get lost. This familiarity was advantageous, though I was chasing an unknown entity. That edge wasn't on my side.

Though I wasn't carrying any weapons, an unarmed blitz move would suffice if this person or thing became hostile. For the moment, I kept an Aurashield ready.

The dim lights filled the surroundings, but not enough to illuminate my company. Whatever it was, it stayed just beyond my sight, using the curved hallways to hide itself. Adrenaline raced, but I maintained a vibe of caution. The 'long-spike monster' that killed a man in the city's caves hadn't slipped my mind. I could very well be chasing that offending creature.

Both our footsteps echoed throughout the cavern hallway. I was braced for confrontation. I kept pace with this thing, and anticipated cornering it…until I recalled a key feature of this cave. Lower hallways like this one led outside into the open gorge behind the mountains. This entity could very well escape!

Around the next corner, this was confirmed. Brilliant light flooded the rock hallway, sunlight from outside. The thing's shadow was visible once more. I tried getting a glimpse of its shape before it exited the cave…and my field of vision.

Was it…humanoid?

Then it was gone. I reached the cave exit only to find the rough chasm floor and the trees beyond. I'd lost the trail. Outside, a few stones rained down off the cliff face, suggesting the entity had climbed up to elude me.

What was it? Its shadow looked vaguely humanoid, but no person could scale such a rugged cliff that quickly. This feat suggested a monster of sorts.

Why was it here, and why did it run from me? More questions, no answers. Frustrated, I kicked the rocky wall, knocking more fragments loose. Before setting out, I messaged Edgar, telling him I'd search here for possible clues to these taunting questions. When I got home, I'd have to say there were more taunting questions.

But this thing's presence had meant…something, a potential clue in of itself.


	35. The Twisting Dimension

**Chapter 35: The Twisting Dimension**

I'd been rethinking my escape plan since waking up on this day.

After a filling brunch, I checked myself out of the inn. Lodging was more expensive than meals, and food was more essential. If I need be, I could lay low in a warehouse overnight. This would likely prove necessary.

When I initially left that prison complex wearing Jelmz's gear, I believed escape was a simple matter of discovering my location and contacting Edgar. However, I realized that was too simple. Even if the King and I somehow arranged an extraction of myself, what then? Surely my captors would take note and intervene. They wanted me here, and they sure as hell wouldn't let me go quietly.

As I'd concluded already, my captors weren't rookies. They had numbers, resources, and they surely had tactical ideas, though I hadn't learned the specifics. Those weird beings with oval jewels set in their foreheads were another asset. Additionally, they meant business, dirty business. Kidnapping me was only the tip of the iceberg. That they actually got in my own backyard from…wherever this place was…showed talent and organization. They were efficient, and malicious. If I escaped with the Returners' help, it would not be forgotten. They'd come after me once more. What else was on their agenda?

Someone like Edgar had every reason to know about these people and their shady dealings. I couldn't just bail out upon naming this place. There were secrets that needed to be found, and only I could find them. Learning all I could about this new foe paralleled getting out.

The means to accomplish this was exactly what I'd done thus far; explore.

When I first gazed upon this strange town, details had slipped my mind. However, since I was more focused on info-collecting now, I made out features I'd previously overlooked. To the east was a tall building off in the distance, a few miles by a rough estimation. It was tallest building around here, and that meant something. A significant place like a fortress or citadel would look like that, the perfect area to learn about my inhospitable company. I headed for the towering structure.

I'd resolved to go the entire distance on foot, but a stroke of convenience walked my way, literally. An open-air stagecoach dropped off two people at a street corner. They paid the carriage driver and went on their way. The driver was an armored woman, naturally.

The mount was something else. Where a chocobo would be found anyplace else, this coach was pulled by an overgrown wolf creature, large enough to be ridden. The canine opened its mouth and yawned, a mouth three times the size of the average lobo, with fangs three times the lengths and sharpness. Were I any more paranoid, I'd have expected it to face me, growl, and charge. But it just licked it chops, paying me no attention.

I'd never seen such a creature before. Was it a local monster, or had this giant wolf, like the twin hex medallion, been imported from elsewhere.

I could find out later. For now, I waved down the carriage mistress. "Would you mind? I could use a lift."

"Sure." She pointed behind her at the empty seat. I climbed in. "Where to?" She asked.

"There." I pointed at the tower to the east, unsure of its official name. "I'm new in town, and my friend asked that I meet him at that tall building."

The woman believed me. She asked no questions and charged the appropriate fee. I paid, and she mustered the giant wolf to move out. I sat in the back, observing the passing streets.

As we got closer, I could see the building was an ornate citadel. To further establish it importance, a high stone wall enclosed it, and several smaller buildings around in the vicinity. A special neighborhood, with the big building as the center.

In most circumstances, such a place would have gate guards. We'd have been stopped and searched. But there were no stationed sentries at the gates in this wall. The gates weren't even closed. Our chariot got inside like it was nothing.

Of course there were no guards. This was a garrison. _Everyone_ was a guard. If someone was denied access to this neighborhood, that individual wouldn't be allowed anywhere in this town. These militants didn't think outsiders would get this far into their domain.

My pulse increased. I was deep behind the lines of this enemy from nowhere, and only I knew about it. Trespassing had never been so dangerous, or educational.

The chariot went through the streets of this walled-in section of town. The looming structure got more detailed as we closed the distance. Windows and balconies became visible. A few blocks down, the woman stopped the carriage. "That's as close as I can get you."

We were just before the lawn of this massive citadel. "It's close enough. Thanks." I stepped off, and watched the coach mistress depart.

A stone path led to the large double doors. Through them was a massive entry hall. Armed locals walked about here and there, none of them stopping to converse with me. I searched the walls. This citadel would certainly have map displays, and they'd likely be found here. However, exotic paintings and carvings were my only rewards. I wasn't discouraged though. This place had many rooms, and I'd easily find something of interest soon enough.

Moments later I did, in a hallway with multiple stairwells. I spotted my only named 'acquaintance' from this nameless garrison town, the young Ms. Voldruine, descending the closest flight of stairs. The teenager paid me no attention. Since I didn't want any, all was good.

Or was it? The girl wasn't alone this time. Following her down the stairs was a large muscled creature which I could only describe as a buffed up crocodile with long horns. Its hide was a dark, dull brown, coarse and scaly. The two horns pushed up from the crown if its skull, than forward at a moderately steep angle. Despite it bulk, the creature carried itself well, without lumbering off balance or mindlessly swatting its tail against various decorations it passed on the landing.

I'd have to expect surprises like this, if I was going to move about secretly and learn my captor's motives and methods. Those three gem-headed beings from the previous day and the giant wolf from a few minutes ago were omens to me, signs of things to come. My dire circumstance thickened.

But I kept this anxiety concealed. I couldn't blow my cover, especially with that croc nearby.

Ms. Voldruine and the strange animal reached the bottom of the stairs. She looked down at the crocodile and made some hand gesture. The thing sat. It was _domesticated!_ Well, if they could tame overgrown wolves to pull stagecoach wagons, why not train giant horned crocodiles to sit, roll over, and go fetch.

Through the masks eyeholes, I espied the creature. In some weird way, I was comforted to see an oval gemstone attached to its forehead, this one a black onyx. Maybe this was a 'special' breed. Still, was this a local animal, or had it come from elsewhere?

Ms. Voldruine stood there, with the croc sitting at her feet. She checked her watch, as thought waiting for someone, someone important perhaps. Instincts suggested I wait around to see this person. Next to the stairs was a small table with pottery on top. Standing there, I was behind the girl and the crocodile. I'd have a great view of their prospective company.

Minutes passed, and still this individual had not arrived. A large group of militants came my way, and I instantly took my gaze off the duo and examined the pottery, lest I appear suspicious. The chattering troops passed by, but I didn't look too hard at Ms. Voldruine, or that crocodile.

My ears were attuned to them however. I finally heard the girl greet someone. And which voice answered her back?

Of all the voices, maybe I should have expected it. The previous evening, I'd heard him, just as hoarse and gruff as the times he berated me in the darkened jail cell. It was my personal tormentor.

Once again, he was mere feet away, clueless of my presence. But there was no alleyway or building corner to shield him from my vision. I stood still, but my pulse raced a mile a minute. I could finally view my husky, raspy jailor in full.

Just as I'd seen in the darkened cell, the man was heavyset and tall, shorter than the lanky Mr. Blue but taller than the statuesque Ms. Purple. His clothing was expected; fatigues-style pants tucked into knee-length boots, a thick belt, a sleeveless jacket covering a chest plate, shoulder guards, wrist cuffs, and a talisman necklace. His hair was tied back in medium length tail.

And in some way, other features of him were quite in place. His skin was a deep rich orange, much like roofing tiles or a freshly-cooked yam. His eyes didn't match. The right eye was normal sized but black instead of white, with a tan slit for a pupil. His left eye was a features pink bug eye, at least twice the normal size. In spite of their dramatic size difference, both eyes blinked in unison.

And the last feature loosely explained it all. A vertical oval was centered on his forehead above his eyebrows, this one a ruby colored an intense blood red.

Mr. Blue, Ms. Purple, Mr. Green Thing, Mr. Red, and the horned crocodile with the onyx. That made five gem headed beings…so far.

I was so lost in thought, I paid their words no attention. Seeing my personal nemesis in the discolored flesh was understandably distracting, but I couldn't let myself get sidetracked. I suppressed the urge to draw Jelmz's axe and shove it into Mr. Red's groin. Furious but restrained, I listened to the remainder of his conversation with Ms. Voldruine.

"Actually, that's not necessary. We brought plenty back with us, enough for the process." Mr. Red explained something to which I'd missed the intro. "Some of it's being shipped across town as we speak."

"So you'll help with the procedure?" asked the teen.

"No. I've gotta provide a more extensive update," explained my jailor. "I'm sure some nearby folks will give you a hand if you ask."

I watched from the corner of my eye as Mr. Red climbed the stairs behind the girl and the animal. Though he'd departed my presence for now, I'd likely see him again. I braced myself for it.

How much time would lapse before he checked my cell and found Jelmz's body? Why had that been delayed? Had it? Did someone discover their comrade's corpse in my place already?

No, I doubted that much. Had Jelmz been found, this place would've been on lookdown, with no masked persons moving about, and I'd be dead by now (best case scenario).

Their delay in checking the cell was easily explained. They were up to something big, and that took precedence over the jail cell observation. I was not their number one priority for the time. However, that would change, and someone would find Jelmz where they'd left me. Why had Jelmz come that time? Was he filling in for Mr. Red, or had he taken over as my next jailor? Either way, someone would notice his absence, when their present affairs were concluded, if not before.

Time was not on my side.

"Would you mind giving me a hand?" It was Ms. Voldruine. She finally noticed me, and was asking for my assistance…again. She didn't seem to recognize me from the previous day however. With all the militants moving about, I hoped she'd forgotten.

I faced her, and subtly regarded the crocodile creature. It stood there on all fours, paying me no attention. "Sure. I'm not busy right now." I did my best to act like I'd never met her before, while still playing the role of a local in the know. "It's Ms. Voldruine, right? My friend referenced you a couple times."

"That's me." She winked. "Word about me gets around quickly, for obvious reason." For me, it wasn't so obvious. I just knew she held some degree of importance around here. She beckoned. "Follow me. I'll show you what's up."

"Yes, do that." I masked the enthusiasm in my voice.

I followed her through into a citadel corridor. The buffed up crocodile kept pace with us, a normal sight to all around here but me. At least it didn't try sniffing or licking me. Still, when it got too close I pulled back.

"Oh, don't mind him." The teenage girl laughed, and reached down to stroke the creature's snout. "He's helpful, and he won't bite."

"I see." So the animal was a male, and a 'trusted assistant'. But he would bite…if my identity became known too soon.

_change in s & n_

A double-edged sword in every way possible. That's how I described the current moods of my people.

I sat in my bedroom, reading the report on the latest public dispute, and the arrests that followed. Two men quarreled over my reputation, one of them supporting me while the other voiced blunt skepticism. Their altercation came to blows, and both were detained.

Again, I had to play the objective middleman, and not take either side. In truth, I couldn't fault the skeptical man or those like him. He doubted my measures of re-plumbing this capital. Hell, _I_ doubted myself from time to time, and though I masked it in public, it was obvious that my front made little difference. Skeptical attitudes were growing.

On the other hand, I was still King Edgar of Figaro, and I still had support from various loyalists in town. Someone still believed in me, and they made their opinions very public. Anyone who doubted me would face the wrath of hard line patriots, who didn't sing but instead shout my praises and virtues. Talking down about me and my practices put them on a berserk defensive.

I leaned back in my desk chair, contemplating what these arrests could foreshadow. Full-scale riots hadn't yet broken out, but the potential was certainly there. I'd seen it when the crowd literally amassed at my doorstep. The army dispersed the crowd of skeptics before the patriots could voice their disdain for contrary viewpoints.

Not everyone against me was looking to riot. According to other reports, citizens were starting to leave, migrating out of this capital to cities with functional plumbing systems. I had admit, it was in their best interest, and I had no intention of stopping them. But that created a whole new problem.

Fewer residents meant fewer taxpayers to fund the labor. With fewer residents supplying the money, those who paid would have to increase their input, at a time when they'd already paid a high financial price.

Only one group of townspeople would do this, the unquestioning loyalists who bad-mouthed my critics. This was the double-edge, that precarious fine line; those who supported me were zealously intolerant against opposing perspectives, a mindset that was dividing my people further. Yet, I needed this loyal crowd, as no one else would fund the taxation.

The skeptics had legit cause for their ideas, and unlike the patriots, they weren't so unquestioning and fanatical. Asking questions is what led them to their current mentality. They were more interested in getting on with their lives, moving out of town if necessary. They weren't interested in setting off conflict with rival viewpoints, though they didn't back down if patriots overstepped the line. The critical population came off as more sympathetic.

So that was my circumstance in a nutshell; I felt for people who provided less and less for the water works tax, and those who continued supporting me were more pushy, abrasive, and insensitive. The patriots did things in my name that I'd never sanction. But I needed them.

But for how much longer? I put the crime report aside and grabbed the construction report detailing the Guild's recent progress. Since discovering the soil deterioration in the northeast farming community, I'd made that region a priority. Those who still remained in the district were quiet, for now.

Elsewhere in town, the regular building of add-ons continued. It appeared this stretch would eventually meet the northeastern stretch. If that kept up…

From the looks of things, this plumbing project was almost complete! Just a few more districts along the capital's northern edge would remain after the farming district had its upgrades.

In a different setting, I'd be commending the Reservoir Guild and eagerly anticipating the system's completion. But instead, I asked, would it matter? So many trials had unfolded in this project already. I doubted completion would be attained so easily. If the farming soil dried out before then, completion really would be a moot point.

But when completion was attained, maybe those who doubted me would have their faith restored, which would placate those loyalists. My people would be united once more.

As I placed the construction data back into its respective folder, the telegraph on my desk buzzed to life. Its keys typed a message as the topmost sheet of paper was rolled out. When the message was done, the machine chimed and its light flashed. I had mail.

I grabbed the paper and read the content. It was from Terra. On this day, she decided to explore Umaro's cave for answers to his whereabouts. While inside, she almost crossed paths with someone else, or something else.

Almost. She didn't see who or what, but she claimed the footsteps were too light and quick to be Umaro's. When she called his name and said hers, the mysterious being fled, as though avoiding her. She chased it through the caves cautiously, wondering if this was the beast which killed Frank Maydecker. Yet she didn't get close enough to see who or what she was chasing, and the being fled into the gorge behind the mountains. Whatever it was, it had evaded her successfully. She theorized this deliberate avoidance meant something.

I set my machine for a response, thanking Terra for her efforts and intuition. Though her message claimed she didn't locate Umaro, I urged her to keep searching in Narshe. It wouldn't hurt to check back in with Mog and report the strange experience in the yeti's cave.

Not three seconds after sending the message, my telegraph printed another one. I read the new piece of mail, this one from Locke. He wanted to discuss a matter he referenced as 'quite confidential'. He stressed that he didn't want Celes around for the discussion, as she blew off his ideas as 'paranoid nonsense'. Locke mentioned that he was free tomorrow. He was manning their shop today while Celes came here for personal visits. Tomorrow, they'd both have mutual free time and come here, but they'd go separate ways, shopping in different areas.

I sent a reply to Locke, explaining that tomorrow afternoon would work fine. Whatever he wanted to say was important. The sooner I heard it, the better.

_change in s & n_

We carried a full load of 'Divine's food'. Chithagu was hauling one crate. Some local troops in town were helping me with two more. A large man in a plate mail vest pushed one box by himself. A smaller man with an armored mask was helping me push the last one, for this load. There'd surely be more to shuttle across town. The Duke's minions were numerous for this march against us, and our team brought back plenty after assaulting his ranks.

The cable car stopped outside Yithadri's dome, in the hills east of Albrook. Its doors opened and we hauled all three carts to the domed chamber. The bigger man was quite talkative. "We're really gonna fuck shit up now. In a few days or less, it's bye-bye Sindreo Geminsa."

"Yeah," I agreed, looking at the masked soldier. Unlike the large man, this guy was rather quiet. He added nothing to our conversation. "You okay soldier? You seem like the silent type. We've such people around here, so don't feel bad if that's the case."

"I'm fine, he said. "I'm just…more of a listener than a speaker, not the kind to ramble on about myself."

Sentries pulled open the chamber doors. We pushed the boxes onto the central platform, where Yithadri and her mystics stood with a severely injured man. The guy had been ravaged by the Duke's forces. One arm was cut off at the shoulder, the other just above the elbow. Both stumps were cauterized closed. He was a clear priority for augmentation.

We pushed all three boxes across the catwalks to the central ledge. Yithadri's aides opened the boxes, and the Shamaness observed the contents. "They certainly were hard at work on the battlefield," she acknowledged.

She reached into the crate and pulled out the comatose form of a man wearing the Duke's uniform colors. A bloodied bandage wrapped his head. According to field reports, various enemy goons like him were crippled and beaten down to a vegetative state. They were alive, still producing blood.

The mystics took the inert Duke-lover and placed him in shackles hanging from beams which traversed the chamber. "Watch how the supplier is locked in the binds." I pointed at the demonstration, so the two troops could get a hint, if they were new to the practice.

The man was hung in the standard 'drain' position, stomach-down with his limbs behind his back. Gravity could then pull all his blood out though a single wound. When the shackled man was pushed beyond the platform railing to dangle over the pit, Yithadri pointed at the masked soldier. "Ah, you've got an axe. Perfect. You know where to cut?"

The masked man stood there. "Well…no. I've never done this before."

"We're all new to everything until we actually do it. Let me show you." Yithadri reached for the axe, and the trooper handed it over. The Honored Shamaness cut upwards from underneath the hanging man, chopping a gash into his stomach. "Pretty easy, right?"

"Yeah." The man accepted the axe when Yithadri returned it.

"Okay, now we vacate, so the energy goes to the armless man, not ourselves," I instructed. "We don't need it." The troops followed Chithagu and I onto the nearest catwalk, pushing the meat boxes against the ledge's guardrail. The Shamaness and her mystics began the exercise.

The hanging man's blood poured from the deep incision and splashed on the stone surface below. It chimed and flashed the usual white and green colors, and flecks of light amassed on what remained of the wounded guy's arms.

Bright lights flashed as they took the vague shape of arms and hands. Then they faded, and fully-formed human hands were left in their place. There was no scarring to suggest his arms had recently been severed.

But it became obvious these were not his original limbs. As he flexed his fingers at Yithadri's advice, something new sprouted from his wrists. Rough, vein-covered stumps emerged. The skin on their surface folded back, and smoke spewed out.

"Okay, now aim for the open space there." Yithadri pointed at the pit covering most of the chamber's floor space. He did just that, and a flaming object burst from each growth. The fireballs arched downwards into the pit and burst on contact with the rocky ground. The explosion wasn't spectacular, but it was impressive enough.

"Flaming cartilage bombs," explained Yithadri. "Though they won't substitute conventional weapons, they'll definitely add a boost to your arsenal.

"And a boost to my physical condition too." The man's augments retracted back into his wrists, leaving no sign of their new presence. "I'm ready to get back out there and kick more Duke-loving ass. I've seen this process before. Now, I've received it."

Yithadri smiled. "Then you're dismissed. Head back to the airship and await further orders." The augmented man bolted from the domed chamber. He was no stranger to the process, and the large-framed soldier next to me mentioned witnessing his share.

However, the masked soldier was swaying about, leaning on the catwalk's guardrail, his legs weak and shaky. "What's wrong?" I asked him.

The man breathed deeply. "What the hell? I've never seen that before. What _is_ it?"

"We call it augmentation, though its official name is much more elaborate," I explained, avoiding the original Jrysthovuhn terminology.

Yithadri examined the hanging corpse. It was completely drained of bodily fluids. She removed the carcass from the chains and ordered one of her mystics to disposes of it. The large soldier and second mystic went about hanging the other vegetative corpses in suspended shackles, in preparation for the next wounded Nyufalng troops who'd come our way.

The masked grunt knelt down against the railing, gathering himself. "So, you drain a person's blood and heal another person's wounds, even give them…monster body parts. Can you revive a dead person?"

"That's about the one thing it _can't_ accomplish," Yithadri clarified as two corpses were shackled in place. "If there's no active soul energy in the recipient, the soul energy in the donor's blood cannot bind with anything, and thus the result is nothing."

"Soul energy?" The trooper's voice suddenly held more life.

I sat down next to him, petting Chithagu as I did so. "You've heard such terminology before? Word does travel around here, so I'm not surprised."

"I heard it in a much different context." The masked man got to his feet slowly. "In regards to fighting talents, not blood content."

I stood with him. "Well again, we can boast such talents, so it likely found your ears in short order."

The soldier observed as various Duke-lovers were fixed into place. "If you can mutate and replace missing limbs, can you mutate someone's entire body?"

"We've done it, though the subject often loses intelligence with increased abilities." If Yithadri felt any shame, her voice betrayed none of it. "Oddly, when we augment animals, their intelligence increases, though it still isn't on par with a standard human."

"Me smart," rasped Chithagu. "Me speaking, me is listen, me got intellect."

"Whoa!" The soldier almost fell down again. Chithagu's speaking had clearly startled him. He was definitely new here. "Your…animal…talks?"

"Yes he does." I stroked his back. "Right boy?" He wagged his tail. "He's a sample of augmented abilities and intelligence. His IQ doesn't rival ours, but it surpasses those of his species. He's quite unique."

"Don't forget why he's unique." Yithadri pushed aside an empty box.

"Oh right. It's this." I pointed at Chithagu's Pirusymn stone. "It's a rarity. Only five have been created."

"Happily, we created all of them, and they're all in our possession." Yithadri said with pride. "All the Pung Thoshidai work for us."

"Pung Thush…Thasi Pang…huh?" The masked man was stuck on the Jrysthovuhn terminology.

"Pung Thoshidai, or Pung Thoshidei for the singular," I clarified, patting the tongue-tied man's back.

"Thoshidei." The man got it right this time. "So you…make Pung _Thoshidai_ from wild animals like that one?"

"Actually he's the only one who started out as feral." Yithadri chained a veggie into a shackle set. The remaining 'donors' were moved to the room's periphery, as all chains near the central platform were used. "The first four Pung Thoshidai were born of normal humans. Maybe you've seen the other four around town. Their Pirusymn stones are quite obvious."

"As a matter of fact, I did see a few with such stones, though I wasn't counting their number." The grunt was in the know, to some extent. "So, there's only five. Have you plans to get more?"

Yithadri sat in a meditation posture. "Unfortunately, the means to create Pirusymn stones only exists in Jrysthovuh, my homeland. Many of us hail from there, though not all. We're not welcome there. Those of us with Jrysthovuhn blood are either exiles or fugitives."

"The ruling Council despises us for our divergent thinking," I pitched in. "I'll spare you the long tale. Suffice to say, many of us are glad to be unwelcome there. Too bad they sealed off the whole country. Our brothers and sisters who didn't toe the line are forced to live under blinding chains. Too many rules and all that fucking shit. Sealed away from the outside world, the Council's bossy rule is largely unknown, never mind unmatched."

"So, if you're Jrysthovuhn and you oppose the Council, why are you here? Shouldn't you be fighting them instead?" The masked grunt was very perceptive, for a newcomer at least.

"The control freaks who run our country are not unique," I said flatly, despite the discussion topic. "The oppressive, the ignorant, and the morally-strict come in many flavors, from just as many places."

Yithadri flexed her fingers in some exercise. "We've already crushed the local rule of Sireck and Edrina, obviously. House Virnone was destroyed a short while back. Now, Duke Sindreo Geminsa's next. Our numbers have grown immensely, just like our proficiency at augmentations. Soon, we'll have the resources to fuck up the Council's pampered little haven. Jrysthovuh's intelligent will at last be free."

The grunt said nothing for the next few moments. He was likely absorbing all the info. Admittedly, it was quite a lot to digest, but he kept up, and caught in quickly. "You lack the means to create more of those stones or whatever. Are the stones created with spirit energy?"

"Bravo, good sir." I commended the man's learning capacity. "Jrysthovuh has access to a rich concentration of spirit energy not found anywhere else in the world. That's what allows the Council to exploit their subjects and maintain their iron fist."

"Where does spirit energy originate?" asked the inquisitive grunt. "How does it come to be? Does an area's population play a role? I assume each person has energy that would contribute to a region's quantity or quality."

"Imaginative, and well-spoken my friend." Yithadri praised the man while gazing at the dome overhead. "But no, spirit energy does not originate with physical life forms. They carry a certain amount and can channel more into themselves, but it comes from elsewhere." She looked at him. "It originates in the Spirit Stream of the Divine."

"Honored Shamaness Juyolahriss," called the burly grunt from across the chamber. "All suppliers have been positioned as ordered." While empty shackles remained, unshackled vegetables did not.

"Fantastic." Yithadri stood and looked around at the hanging followers of Sindreo Geminsa. How wasteful they could give blood to his cause. Instead, they'd literally bleed for ours. "Another load should do it for max capacity. Head back to the cargo vessels and collect more. And bring more wounded here as well, to receive the special treatment." As the soldier departed, the first mystic returned, having disposed of the drained corpse. Yithadri addressed them both. "Plenty of wounded will be coming in. Prepare accordingly. Find the Moihzadu. We'll definitely need him."

Seeing the empty shackle sets reminded me that someone else would prove useful right about now. "Don't forget the special catch. If you're seeking augmentations, his blood will provide some of the best."

"Yes, for sure." Yithadri faced her departing clerics. "He should be ready for another go. Bring him out."

"Another go?" asked the soldier in the headgear. "You mean, you can drain blood from a person more than once?"

"Not usually," I offered "but in this case, we certainly do. This guy possesses some real talents, and skills of that caliber can be extracted through blood and passed on to augment recipients, in some form."

While the grunt ingested yet another Nyufalng asset, one of the clerics returned with the special catch, the latter bound to a hand cart, wearing only his undergarments. The curious grunt went up close to examine the special captive. "Is this how you drained his blood?" He pointed at intersecting scars on the catch's wrists.

"Not quite." Yithadri pointed out. "Those are from a suicide attempt from long ago. Our methods might leave scars, but less crude than these."

"Greetings all. There's a slight change in plans." The voice which filled the chamber could only belong to Ruqojjen.

"High Shenthaxa Kagasjori." Yithadri's cleric addressed the chief by his full title. "Of what changes do you speak?"

The Nyufalng leader walked up, daukaisna in hand. "The Duke's minions have subsequently retreated from our assaults. They're adapting, taking a ship to avoid any more ambushes by land."

"So?" I asked. "We already ambushed them at the port of Lenshelgh. Are they just repeating a different mistake?"

"Lenshelgh was a surprise attack against a small force unprepared for opposition of our magnitude," clarified Ruqojjen. "Their ship is headed for our turf. And they'll unload everything they have upon arrival."

"They'll be here sooner then expected." Yithadri traced the engraving pattern on one of her bracelets. "It's a damn good thing we're preparing for augmentations right this minute. What are the extra counter measures?"

As usual, the High Shenthaxa already had a plan. "A ship-to-ship naval clash is something they'll expect. A less predictable method is to let them get close to our shoreline and strike when they presume to be unseen. I doubt they'll dock here in town. That would be too obvious. More likely, they'll stop on the shores and march the rest of the way. We'll keep tracking them, but lay off on the assaults, giving the impression we've lost their trail."

"Sindreo Geminsa's arrogance would have him presume such, if we cease our attacks," the Honored Shamaness acknowledged. "We track them along the coast, and strike once again as they disembark."

"And that will be that," I surmised. "The Duke and his followers will be no more."

"According to field reports, over one fifth of his remaining minions were killed off in the ambushes." Ruqojjen pointed at the hanging, chained bodies. "This is but a fraction of their losses. When they land, we overwhelm them, striking from all sides, drawing their attention on one front while attacking on others."

"If they're sailing here, their arrival is close at hand." Yithadri ran her fingers along vital points of the special catch before placing him back on the cart. "He's ready. Shackle him up." The cleric followed her directive.

"Tomorrow. I'm sure of it." Ruqojjen swung the jagged long sword in arch motions. Soon, the Duke blood would coat the serrated weapon. "Until then, we must prepare. The other ambush parties are heading back, and they've got plenty of comatose Duke-lovers in their possession."

"Have we received any word from Sergeant Tanrevilt?" Yithadri soothed out wrinkles in her robe sleeves.

"He'll inquire when he gets the chance." Ruqojjen lifted the Jrysthovuhn weapon high with both hands.

"Right." I faced the curious grunt. "I like your interest, but the Q&A period's over. We've got work to do."

"Yes," agreed the soldier. "Preps for the Duke's welcoming party. I'll manage. The more work I do, the more I'll learn."

Chithagu, the grunt, and I took the wheeled transport crates and pushed them back out to the cable car. When I pulled the doors closed, I said, "Ah, a fast-learner. Every experience carries its own lesson or two, if you're perceptive."

The cable began its descent. "So, there's no other place to create these…Pung stones?" asked the masked grunt.

"Pirusymn stones," I corrected him. "And we don't know of any. Surely not on this continent, as we've explored all three domains. Maybe there's a place outside Jrysthovuh, but we don't know about it. For now, five Pung Thoshidai is enough."

"Like him." The man pointed at Chithagu.

"Yes, like him," I repeated. "He's got a name by the way. Call him Chithagu."

"Chithagu." The man had no trouble pronouncing it. "That must be a Jrysthovuhn name."

"Well, yeah." I stroked my pet pal. "He's an indigenous Jrysthovuhn animal."

"Are the others I saw earlier Jrysthovuhn nationals?" He described the other Pirusymn bearers in detail. Sure enough, he'd seen all four. I provided names for each one, so he'd be on a first name basis. He had no trouble with name pronunciation. Of course he wouldn't. He was here, amongst us Nyufalng. Ruqojjen and Yithadri gave a brief but essential crash course in Jrysthovuhn culture to all who joined our movement.

Even so, it was possible he'd known about Jrysthovuh before ever hearing the word 'Nyufalng'. Though rare, it wasn't unheard of. There was one particular source of knowledge that had found its way beyond Jrysthovuh to the world at large. Few really took interest, but those who did wouldn't forget. Many of our new recruits referenced it when we mentioned our Jrysthovuhn roots.

The Ts'aosra'iy.

Well, it was better than nothing, but it was hardly a worthy resource for the truth about Jrysthovuhn society. Anyone who referenced it was given corrections immediately. Calling the Ts'aosra'iy a half-truth would be too generous, an exaggeration of its factuality. For us, hearing claims of its being the 'foremost account of Jrysthovuh' was an obscene joke. But for non-Jrysthovuhns, it was all they had, until they joined our movement.

If this masked grunt knew of the Ts'aosra'iy, he'd learn it had few valid points. If not, there was no need to 're-educate' him.

The cable car reached the bottom of the hill. I slid its doors open, and we pushed the crates through the streets to nearest railcar stop. "Suppose you can make…Pirusymn stones elsewhere," stated the grunt as we rounded a street corner. "Is it possible you'd learn of such a place?"

"Sure it's possible, but it would take a level of devotion we can't offer up right now." I zigzagged my crate around pedestrians. "Maybe after the Duke's blood flows like wine, Ruqojjen and Yithadri will seek out another source of undiluted Spirit Stream energy. The Divine has many facets that even we have yet to fully grasp." 

And now came the grunt's quintessential question. "And what exactly is this Divine?"

I stopped pushing the cart, to emphasize my response. "My friend, though your question has a simple answer, it will lead to a series more profound questions, especially for someone like you. Trust me on that one. Now's not the time for such a scholarly lecture. We have work to do, as you know."

"Okay," replied the masked trooper. "Another time will suffice." He was agreeable, and understood the importance of the present affair. I myself could postpone the questions I had for the Major.

_change in s & n_

The train sped through Narshe, packed with evening commuters. Edgar's suggestion of checking back with Mog was interesting. In any case, I had nothing to lose by doing such. Guards were posted outside the mines after Umaro's disappearance. My near encounter with that elusive…thing while searching the yeti's cave would be of interest to them. The moogle would be just as curious, if not more so.

The westbound train stopped in the Verdsanath District, where I departed. Walking through the residential streets to the moogle mines, I noticed that guards still watched the mine's entry. I approached them casually. They admitted me last time, and I had nothing to share back then. "Terra Branford of the returners. I'm here to discuss something with Mog, and maybe your commander as well."

Adding that last part worked wonders. Instead of debating with each other, the guards called inside the cave. Another soldier came out. "Follow me, Ms. Branford." I let the formality slide, grateful to have quick and convenient access.

I followed the sentry through the various tunnels and corridors of natural stone. The talking moogle was in a storage chamber, cleaning the heads of digging trowels and drill bits, a dirty rag in his hand and a container of cleaning solution at his side.

"Be quick," advised the guard. I had every intention of making this as brief as possible.

"Hi Mog." I greeted him as he dipped the rag into the bucket.

"Kupo Terra. Impeccable timing. I'm less preoccupied than usual."

"Good. I have an update for you." I sat on a work bench. "Earlier today, I went to the caves behind the northern cliffs, the cave where Umaro once lived."

Mog stopped scrubbing the shovel and looked up. "What did you find? Was he there?"

"I didn't see him, but I had an encounter with something else. Well, almost."

"Almost?" inquired Mog, his wings flapping. "How is 'almost' an encounter? You either saw something or you didn't."

"I didn't _see_ anything, but I _heard_ it. When I called Umaro's name and said mine, this thing took off running. Its footsteps were to fast and light to be Umaro's." I recalled crucial details of the chase. "Expecting resistance, I chased it. But it got away, exiting into the gorge and scaling a cliff, out of my sight. Whatever it was, it didn't want to be found."

"Didn't want?" Mog exclaimed while swabbing the shovel's underside. "Terra, you're presuming it was intelligent enough to _want_ secrecy. You didn't see what you chased, so you can't prove it was something beyond a typical cave dweller. Some creatures flee humans all the time."

"It led me outside Mog, like it knew the cave's layout, knew where to find the closest exit. And it only fled _after_ I said my name." I explained more details as the person who experienced it all. "Edgar agreed with me. The thing's evasion meant something."

The moogle placed the trowel on a tool rack, grabbing a dirty pickaxe. "Well I won't doubt the King's judgment. And you chased the mystery thing, not me, so your idea holds water. But, what do you want from me?"

What did I want? It was Edgar's idea that I visit Mog after the cave chase, not mine. "Edgar suggested I inform you of this. Better to try than not, as he would say."

"If you want to talk, than talk to the people in charge if military presence around here, Kupo." Mog scrubbed accumulated dirt off the pick blade. "My hands are tied with maintenance and labor duties. They were Umaro's job at one point, but he got lazy before vanishing."

I stood from the bench. "Yes, I planned on speaking to a military commander if you couldn't help. I'm just trying to keep you in the loop."

"Kupo, thanks Terra. Come back if you find something else that's worthy my knowing." Mog scrubbed the pick head clean, shelved the tool, and grabbed another one. His bucket was now empty. "Damn, the good stuff doesn't last long. I'll go refill." He flapped his wings and floated off to restock the cleaning fluid.

I faced my escort. "Who's in charge here?"

"We have a different commander for each shift. Follow me to find the present one on duty." He led me through a different series of tunnels. A tall man in full armor stood on a ledge overlooking a machinery chamber below. "Commander, this woman has something to tell you."

The Commander, an aged man with stiffened facial features, eyed me. "Ms. Terra Branford." I was known amongst the army. "State your business."

I repeated my cavern chase tale. "It deliberately fled me. It didn't want to be seen or known, which means we should know about whatever it is, and whatever it's doing."

The man's stale eyes came to life. "You didn't see the missing yeti at all?"

"No, and that creature was obviously not him. But I'm considering a chance that the elusive thing played a role in his disappearance."

The commander scratched his stubble. "You presume an intelligent creature of sorts. It fled you, when it had the chance to attack. Maybe it wasn't a creature but a person."

"Oh." I'd not thought of that. "Well still, if he or she ran from my presence, this person didn't want me spotting them in Umaro's cave. That still leaves the question of why. Why it was there, and why I wasn't attacked during the chase."

"And you never saw the yeti." The officer stared up at the cave ceiling for a moment. "We don't know if Umaro's lives or not. Is it possible this person or creature was there to kill him, for reasons unknown to us?"

"I don't know, but I wasn't writing off hostility. While chasing it, I was on the defensive, in case it was the spiked thing that killed Maydecker a short time back."

The man cringed at the mention of his deceased colleague, but it was a necessary reference. "You believe there's a link between his killer and the mysterious person or creature you chased from Umaro's dwelling?"

"I'm not sure, but I wouldn't rule out that possibility."

"Hmm." The military officer squinted his eyes. "How much of the cave did you search?"

"Not much," I said. "I left after losing track of the mystery thing."

"If the creature you chased is the same thing that killed Maydecker, perhaps it attacked the yeti as well. Sergeant." The Commander addressed my escort. "A full search of the caves to the north is in order. Maybe we'll find the missing yeti, or clues about this strange new…thing."

The Sergeant nodded. "Aye Sir. When do you wish to begin?"

"As quickly as possible, before it gets dark," answered the C.O. "Find the Major and brief him on this."

"Yessir." The Sergeant placed his hand to his forehead in a salute. "Ms. Branford, unless you have business here, I must escort you back outside."

"I'll leave. Thank you for your time." I faced the officer.

"And thank you for the update." He bid me farewell before the Sergeant beckoned me to follow. We retraced our steps back outside.

Maybe I was grasping at straws, but I hoped a search of Umaro's cavern would lead to something, an answer or two. I kept feeling that his and Leonard's disappearances were related. The questions kept piling up.

_change in s & n_

Dinner was an hour away. I could spend that time in the command center practicing the Dragoon arts, and work up an appetite.

I fastened my boots and gripped my favorite Aura Lance. Upon closing the bedroom door, I was greeted with company. "Good evening, King Edgar."

"Good evening Joe, and welcome back. I hope you enjoyed your vacation." Though he'd returned a couple days ago, I'd not seen him until now.

"I enjoyed it, to say the least, but I'm curious. What's been going on here since I left?"

"You must mean the plumbing upgrades." I withheld my doubts and questions, as well as the public's growing skepticism, but told him the truth on the actual progress. "It's almost done."

"Wonderful. Soon the tax increase will be void, I hope." The merchant contained his voice. "How about Narshe?"

"What about Narshe?" His next question was surprising.

"Has anything big happened there?" He scratched his neck. "I mean, I did ruffle some feathers awhile back, accidentally bypassing mine security while seeking out Mog. I can guess people were pretty upset. The moogles certainly were."

His voice took a sheepish, bashful tone. He was understandably embarrassed from that accident, and wasn't sure if it had blown over. Maybe he'd avoided the mining town since, for that very reason. "Not to worry Joe. They have extra security patrolling the mines to prevent such happenings again. The moogles have plenty of work obligations now. Recalling your little 'trespassing' stunt would waste their time." I smiled, putting him at ease. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm still interested in Narshe's jewelry and gemstone trade. I might move there." He pointed at the floor. "I can't live in your house forever."

"I'm not in a hurry to evict you or anything, so don't rush yourself in moving out." I patted his shoulder. "But I'm sure Narshe would welcome you in full when the time comes." I said nothing of Maydecker's killing or Umaro's disappearance. Such things were classified, and not really his business.

"Indeed." He looked about, as though pondering another question. "So, once the new water lines are in place, the looming drought will cease to be?"

"That's the plan," I said, keeping any negative thoughts to myself.

"I've heard this desert town is rather infertile, at least naturally. It's the polar opposite of your wife's homeland."

"Yes, you heard correctly Joe. Vardigga is, no-pun intended, a fertile field of agriculture and greenery." I laughed at my little joke. Charise would've laughed if she'd been around to hear it.

Joe's face lit up, and not just from humor. "What is Vardigga's gemstone demand like?"

"You'd have to ask my wife, because I've never really considered it. Why the curiosity?"

He shrugged. "Well…I just, want to know. I understand you're not on the best of terms with them, but that doesn't mean their nation is backwater. I've heard plenty of stories about the unsurpassed beauty of the Vardiggan countryside. And that's before considering their scientific achievements." Joe was silent. "Do I really need an excuse to visit there, that is, when I can take another leave?"

"I guess not, but wait until then. You know the leave policy," I reminded him. "Have you anymore questions? I must get to the command center."

"No. Thank you for your time, Your Majesty. I'm going to get some food." The merchant waved and left my presence. I left the castle for the training room at the military base.

In the training room, Cyan was observing a group of soldiers place another hybrid target, a frozen chunk of meat covered with shards of a combat walker. Ziegfried stood in the corner, cleaning his long sword. "How go the target preparations?" I asked.

One of the troops smiled, hanging armor shards on the meat's frozen surface. "Just in time Sire. They prey awaits you."

"It is time to test your newly honed dragoon techniques once more, King Edgar," announced Cyan with folded arms.

The soldiers cleared the floor and gave me the perfect opening. However, I did some warm-ups first, twirls, thrusts, swings, and leaps to get myself in the mood. With my blood flowing, the real exercise could begin.

My spirit energy was flowing through my weapon. I could feel the warm shaft in my hands. Staring down the armored meat, I stepped forward. The Dragoon boot relics did their thing, carrying me forward with very steps. I raised my weapon to stomach height, tightened my grip, and pushed out.

The usual bangs and dazzling light effect burst out on contact. However, some new results came about. The armor shard that I stabbed broke in half, the two severed pieces flying in opposite directions when the lance blade pierced the surface. It didn't stop there. The tip went deeper into the frozen tissue, sending dust-like ice fragments in all directions. The whole contraption wobbled and slid backwards on impact, but the lance's resonance remained.

That meant I could try a second pass. I yanked my weapon from the target, tearing out more shards of ice and uncooked meat. Now I could try an aerial move. I squatted, and leapt almost twice my height. Raising the weapon above my head, I came back down, ready to finish off the target with a vertical chop.

The spear head buried itself in the meat mound with a thunderous boom, the impacted armor shard curving into itself as more sparkling light effect flared around the jagged spear tip. Then, my weapon began sinking into the meat pile. Pulling it out, I realized why.

I'd nearly _cleaved the frozen slab in half_ with my second strike!

The radiance in the lance was gone. The room's occupants burst into applause. I faced them, a wide grin on my lips, twirling the Aura Lance from side to side.

"Most Impressive, King Edgar." Cyan came up and gave me one of strongest handshakes I'd ever received from him.

Ziegfried's praise was no less enthusiastic. "You truly can call yourself King of the Dragoons."

"And I've only been using this combat style for a few months," I pointed out as the cheering calmed down. I looked at the split meat slab. Most of the ice was melting.

With all the troubles as of late—the decaying soil fertility, the tension amidst the public regarding my reputation, two missing friends, and the ever-elusive super monsters—it was invigorating to see something go smoothly. The butchered meat pile provided more encouragement than I believed possible. It was a metaphor, of progress and hope.

_change in s & n_

Sleep wasn't so easily achieved on this night, for two main reasons.

First, I no longer stayed in a hotel that could block off noise from the outside world. And secondly, my mind was racing. I almost didn't want to sleep, especially after a solid day of learning about my captors.

Ms. Voldruine offered me dinner, as gratitude for my assistance throughout the day. I did the best I could, accepted some currency from her and ate separately.

I surely hadn't learned everything about this bizarre paramilitary bunch, but I'd learned enough, and could easily connect the dots with imagination and educated guesses.

Though sleep was not my preference, I had to rest eventually. I needed a clear head to gather intel, and if they found me passed out from fatigue, my mask would be removed, and my cover blown. My earlier plan of laying low someplace was utilized. The weapon warehouse from yesterday morning would suffice. It was easy to find. Though I didn't yet have a map of this town, I had landmarks, the towering citadel and the hotel-diner where I stayed the previous two nights. I also had street names, and found the warehouse in short order. While it was occupied, I found a dark corner with some large bundles of crates. I could stow away amid them. From between two such piles, I had clear sight of the room's entry and would spot anyone who came in, while they'd see nothing of me. If someone entered, I could weave around various box formations and evade them, slipping back when the coast was clear.

However, with all the activity beyond, this room was largely neglected. If they locked me in, I could climb to the rafters, unlatch a skylight in the ceiling, and climb outside on the roof, assuming they wouldn't reopen the place soon thereafter. But for now I was alone, and not locked inside. I could think in private about my next step.

Even at night, this garrison still had night watch patrols. Just as I suspected, they were gearing up for a major operation. I had no intention of joining them. Their preoccupation was the perfect chance to escape, as most of them would be elsewhere come the time.

Unfortunately, I still didn't know who they were. Nor could I name this town. But I would do everything possible to answer the questions looming over me like invisible storm clouds. When rested up, I'd return to the citadel, gather some info on my whereabouts, contact Edgar, and get the hell out. They'd check my jail cell very soon and find Jelmz's body. Time was certainly not on my side, but I had a chance to accomplish very much in a short span. By my estimation, I had a full day. I had to be out of this town before Jelmz was discovered in my place.

I dozed off into a state of half sleep. The noises of wagons and orders outside were audible, even here. I actually appreciated them, for they kept me from falling into deep sleep. Knowing what I'd learned by now, everything was a gamble. But inaction would bring the greatest danger with the least reward.


	36. Claps of Raging Thunder

**Chapter 36: Claps of Raging Thunder**

I read the telegraph message from Narsehan military brass once more.

After a visit from Terra, Narshean military personnel searched Umaro's cave the previous evening. They didn't find any traces of him or the mystery thing that eluded Terra. They did however, find some freshly stripped bones of local cavern animals. Umaro was known to go after Poppers mice and Kiwok birds. He'd obviously been there, and the search crew had missed him by an hour or less, according to their estimations. The bones were still wet.

That suggested he'd been there after Terra's chase. Had he been there prior to that? Or had he come back to the cave only to flee again before the scouting party arrived? Further more, did he _know_ they were coming? If so, why did he bail? Did he not want to be found? That question itself opened up more loose ends.

What if Umaro was taking orders from the intelligence guiding the new monsters? What if something new freed him, and he was now following its lead?

There was a knock on my bedroom door. I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. It was an hour past noon. He was here to talk. Speculation on Umaro would go on the backburner once more. "Come in."

Locke opened the door and shut it. "Good day Edgar. We're alone. Perfect."

I put the telegraph message back on the keypad machine. "Well I didn't think you'd want company for this discussion. Your message suggested a matter of clandestine privacy, akin to top military secrets."

Locke sat down in the armchair next to the desk. "Ha. I wouldn't go _that_ far, but almost." His voice was more serious than his words, and he wasn't smiling.

I spun the desk chair to face him directly. "I was waiting here deliberately, knowing you wanted a closed setting. The guards outside will stop anyone who attempts to eavesdrop. So speak your piece."

Locke inhaled deeply and leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs. "Edgar, have you noticed anything strange about Joe?"

"Joe? I saw him yesterday for the first time since his return from vacation in South Figaro. He enjoyed it quite a bit."

"Did he?" Locke's voice took an edge of skepticism. "Was he even there at all?"

His tone and words explained why he wanted this closed door discussion, somewhat. "What are you suggesting? Do you think he was somewhere else during that time? You mean something by that implication, something big. Can you explain?" There was more than simple doubt in Locke's mind.

"Gladly." Locke sat up straight. "Joe said he once lived in Quildern, yet sold jewels in Kohlingen during that time, for Kohlingen is bigger and more populated. When Celes and I took Setzer to Kohlingen for his birthday, I discovered that Kohlingen has a very small market for gemstones. In fact, the market for gems in Quildern is much healthier. Joe lived in the town and was totally ignorant of its demand for his wares."

"That is odd, but Joe said he didn't grow up in Quildern," I pointed out. "He said he only lived there a short period of time, maybe too short to realize the jewel market around him."

"That's a satisfactory explanation, for that lone oddity, but there's more. I asked about Bren Randluns, Joe's Tapeworm-stricken friend whom he visited a while back. When I asked where Bren did business, Joe told me that Bren moved to Spervang. Oddly, the Tapeworm was cured real fast." Locke's words became clearer and more fluid. "Finally, upon his return from vacation, I asked Joe about the summer fishing contest. It's held each year at this time in South Figaro, and is a major topic throughout the city. A tourist like him would know about it one way or another." He bit his lip. "But Joe was clueless. He didn't even know such an event took place."

I tried forming a theory, piecing together Locke's observations. "And all these…discrepancies…lead you to believe Joe wasn't in South Figaro." I named Locke's feeling. "You're suspicious, aren't you? You believe Joe's hiding something, based on what you just mentioned."

"And I was thinking of another angle during lunch," he added. "Let's go back seven months or so, when we first found him wandering the streets of Zozo, hours after the gangs raided Fondanin. He claimed he was new in town and was kidnapped for information. He remained a captive while the gangs assaulted the town. When they resumed their infighting afterward, he escaped and found our party. According to records from Fondanite brass, all local missing persons were later found dead among the slain gang members. Yet Joe was spared for one reason or another." He looked at me, expectant that I'd conclude the summary.

"We know all that. Joe explained this in an inquiry," I said. "What's so special about that?"

"Joe, a newcomer in town with very little knowledge of the target, was spared, but all other kidnap victims, locals with valued information, were killed. Joe was the only surviving captive." Locke held out his palms. "Why spare the only person who can't provide any information? Why didn't the gangsters kill him like they did all the other hostages, Fondanite natives who undoubtedly provided answers to questions? If anything, Joe would've been killed first. Zozoan thugs would not spare him like that."

The puzzle was coming together. I could now understand Locke's critical suspicions. There was a highly probably scenario running through Locke's mind, and my own. I shared it. "You think Joe was a Zozoan thug posing as a kidnapped jewelry merchant?"

"I've not eliminated that possibility," he admitted. "We've heard nothing from Fondanin since they scouted Zozo after the raid. It may be reaching, but what's to say Joe isn't a surviving criminal from that hellhole town. I doubt the feuding gangs killed one another down to the last person."

I tapped my fingers together. Locke's idea was very intriguing, perceptive, and less paranoid than one might think. However, there were some details Locke had to acknowledge, details that clashed with his theory. "Not that I'm debunking you or anything, but Joe was beaten savagely when you brought him back, and his understanding of gemology backs up his jewel merchant story."

"Perhaps." Locke folded his arms and stared at the floor, then at the ceiling. "Or perhaps not. Maybe he's an ex-gem peddler turned jewel thief, using his old legalized profession as a cover tale. As far as the beating goes, if he's a gangster, he could've asked his buddies to do it, to make his hostage tale more authentic."

Again, there was nothing to prove or disprove these scenarios. "Okay, suppose you're right, and Joe is a Zozoan. Why is he here, and not plotting with his fellow gang members?"

"Hmm." Locke gazed off through the bedroom window. "Maybe Zozo gangs have their eyes set on Figaro, and sent one of their own here to scout the place. It's not outlandish. They're thieves and worse."

"They are, but with such low numbers, what could they do against us?" I asked. "Remember, a several thousand goons were found dead in the Zozoan streets. What could a small bunch of untrained street punks do against Figaro City? Logically, after suffering that great a loss in manpower, they'd keep as far away from us as possible."

"You've got me there. Maybe Joe's not a Zozoan, maybe." The treasure hunter ran his fingers along etchings in the chair's hardwood arm. "I still think he knows something. Umaro and Leonard both vanish during Joe's rumored vacation in South Figaro. I don't feel it's coincidental, what with said inconsistencies in Joe's alleged past. When you saw Joe yesterday, did you mention Leonard?"

"No." I shook my head. "Joe asked what happened while he was gone. I told him about the plumbing project nearing completion. He also asked about happenings in Narshe, referencing his little stunt in slipping past moogle security in the mines. He was also curious about the jewel demand in Vardigga. I said nothing about Umaro and Leonard's disappearances. He didn't ask."

Lock mumbled something to himself. "Joe didn't act suspicious in any way?"

"No, but I wasn't looking for such behavior. I had no reason to believe he was hiding such details." I leaned back in my chair. "Locke, you have some interesting points, but they're only circumstantial. One could explain them away, claiming Joe's inattentive and his friend recovered quickly. The beating in Zozo took place _before_ the riot, and the crooks spared his life for whatever reason." I looked into his faded eyes. "I'm not faulting your observations, but are you seriously convinced that Joe's got something to hide?"

He fidgeted with his bandana. "I'm not sure, but I can't sweep this under the carpet. Two friends are missing, and I'm sure Leonard met with foul play of sorts."

Was all this conjecture Locke's means of dealing with angst and worry? It made sense, but he sounded too convinced of his theories for them to be a simple coping measure. "I understand where you're coming from, but there's nothing beyond your concepts and ideas. None of those are concrete. Until I have something on Joe, your ideas won't hold any water."

"Of course Edgar, of course. You're the King, and you're not going to follow my words at face value, I get that." He checked his watch and stood up. "I must be going. I have shopping to do. All I'm saying is keep eyes on Joe."

"Yes, that much is possible." As he reached for the door knob, I stopped him. "Just a moment. Locke, have you discussed these findings with anyone else?"

"Only Celes, and she almost throttled me for saying half of them." He looked west, toward their place in Quildern. "I promised her not to confront Joe about this, but she said nothing about my speaking with you. She thinks I'm buying craft supplies right now, so I must be off, and do just that."

"Right. Nonetheless, I appreciate this little update. Maybe you're onto something, maybe not. But I can't allow potential information like this to slip away. Right or wrong, we need proof, one way or another. Happy shopping." I dismissed him. He smiled and left my bedroom, the swinging shut afterwards.

Technically, Locke's ideas proved nothing, as I'd already explained to him. But the ideas were somewhat credible, and required some exploration. There was only one person who could really provide answers.

But getting these answers would be a task by itself. They wouldn't come casually.

_change in s & n_

"The Duke's minions will fight with a vengeance. They consider us obstacles to their glory, and will act accordingly." Ruqojjen's voice filled the air vessel somehow, without any voice amplifier. "This is the final showdown. We've proven how Duke Sindreo's not the only person to understand the nature of carnage, or its defensive use. After this clash, followers of Duke Sindreo Geminsa will exist no more!"

Almost 2,000 men, women, and creations cheered in response, their applause filling the ship's cast cargo bay.

The Duke's last ship had docked on the uninhabited shores east of Lenshelgh. They were less than a day's march from Albrook. In response, we'd gathered most of our ready numbers for this clash. A whole drove of Nyufalng was already laying in wait, the first party shuttled out to the pending battlefield. Ruqojjen and I presently rode with the last group.

The assault would be multi-angled once more. A shielded, heavily armed group would draw attention and initiate the fight. When the Duke's army charged them, the rest of our groups would close in from the side.

Our vessel began descending. That meant we were nearing the designated war zone. We'd land before getting too close and alerting the Duke to our presence. The southern slopes of the Tarpakeus Mountains would help in the concealing process.

Ten minutes later, the airship finally touched down. "Remember, slay the followers with all your might, but the Duke is mine!" Ruqojjen gripped his daukaisna with both hands and raised it high. The present Nyufalng staff cheered once more, cutting off their rants when the engines ceased rumbling. The doors were opened, and the party began filing outside.

As the occupants thinned out, I espied Chithagu and Baokiydu amidst the numbers. Dyal'xern, Sdalsyra, and Qaurjaeda had already joined up with the assault teams. As the Sensorian departed the vessel, I mounted Chithagu.

"Good luck Ajalni," offered Ruqojjen. "Flush out the Duke, and I'll take it from there."

I gripped my kalsahun and rangamju with purpose. "Will do." I spurred Chithagu out the cargo bay door.

Down the mountain slope was the awaiting battlefield. In the distance was the Duke's transport ship nestled on the shoreline. Sindreo and his troops had moved inland by the time we joined a Nyufalng unit waiting to attack form the side. The first of our groups was advancing toward the Duke's party, ready to meet them head on.

At last, the two groups made visual contact. Horns blared up from the Duke's party, a call to artillery cannons. Meanwhile, our group opened fire with arrows and augment weapons. Bolts of lightening and explosive wads of flaming cartilage rained down upon the followers of Sindreo Geminsa, slaying the front-most lines. Tower shield walls and mounted chocobos fell by the dozens. Creations charged the enemy ranks, keeping up the assault. Airborne mounts flew in, another angle in our multi-faceted assault.

The Duke's minions caught on, responding with both types of mortar cannons. The grapeshot was aimed upwards at the flying creations, as the short, wide dispersion of shrapnel required minimal aiming. Flying mounts and their riders were hit with multiple fragmentation shards, falling to the ground below, where ground troops picked off any surviving targets. The standard cannons were aimed at the charging ground mounts. Some shells dismounted riders, others killed the mounts, whereupon the rider was targeted by the Duke's archers. Still, our side kept up the pressure, never once laying off the arrows and bio-weaponry.

The Duke's party was now thoroughly preoccupied. It was time for the sideline ambush. A signal was given, and those beside me charged. I spurred Chithagu forth once more.

Too late did the enemy realize they were under attack from a secondary unit. More arrows and rifle slugs depleted the Duke's numbers, and those who witnessed such had only enough time to comprehend their imminent demise. Our swords, pikes, axes, and organic weapons tore them apart on contact. Chithagu gored one man before trampling a woman right behind him. I swung my rangamju's hook into another woman's face. A strip of flesh hung from the scythe after she went down. Chithagu's tail became a spike-studded whip of muscle and movement behind me, as we zigzagged through Sindreo's left flank.

By now, the enemy's mid and rear sections understood our plan. They knew we'd attack from their side as well as the front, and were adapting. If our assault was multiple, so would be their defense.

Mounted troops charged us, as armor units were providing artillery support up front. Dragoons and Berserkers joined this latest fray. One of the ranking spearmen leapt high for a Dragoon's signature drop attack, but this one was never completed. Someone zoomed up and grabbed him in midair, someone whose flesh glowed bright, the one and only Baokiydu. Using a burst of self-generated heat, the Sensorian could propel himself upwards for height or forwards for distance leaps. His palm spikes glowed hot as he cleaved into the Dragoon, hacking off the man's arm, head, and splitting the lance in two. The severed halves glowed orange along the broken edges. Using a lesser burst of heat, the Pung Thoshidei lowered himself at a reasonable speed, rejoining the ground assault.

Arrows and throwing blades whizzed past. A bolt nailed Chithagu in the side, but he ignored it, as his rigid flesh would expel the projectile in time. Another bolt struck the chest of a rider along side us. His groaned and slumped off his mount, which continued its attack without him. A throwing knife spun in my direction, but I raised my kalsahun and bashed it away. A chocobo was rushing at my position, only to eat a flaming, explosive wad of mucus. Steed and rider were thrown in opposing directions.

I turned Chithagu right for another circular tail swing. Chocobo and riders were shredded by his spiked tail. Upon completing the swipe, I saw more Dragoons in the distance. One had gored a creation, and was kneeling in preparation for another leap attack. I hung the rangamju in my belt and pulled a crossbow from my riding saddle. Quick on the draw and aim at this range, I discharged a bolt, killing the Dragoon with a blindside shot. More were behind him, spinning their pole-arms. "Tumor," I commanded. Chithagu gagged and coughed up a fang-filled embryo sack, belching it into the Dragoon crowd. It blew apart, studding the knights with armor-piercing talons.

Another rider charged us, the chocobo squawking its own war cry, the rider lifting his mace. Chithagu reacted as he'd been taught. He swerved and clawed at the charging mount. Its neck was broken on contact, its carcass swerving about and toppling down. This gave him an opening to chomp the rider. The man's face was crushed between my mount's jaws.

A Marandan arrow slammed into my side. My ragged tunic gained another hole, but my armored tank top prevented further damage. I still felt it, however. "Forward." Chithagu obeyed my order, and we charged the next enemy lines.

Though infantry and cavalry formed most of the mid and rear flanks, they weren't void of artillery. An armor unit was swinging its giant mechanical flail arms wildly. A few creations were struck with the motorized ball-and-chain weapons. Even smaller Nyufalng foot soldiers were taken down. As the unit whirled its maces along its sides, I formed something in my tongue while steering Chithagu to get behind the unit. Once in place, I licked the unit's innards, leaving a pulsating growth attached to the mechanisms. We pulled away, and bursts of electricity engulfed the walking war machine, thank to the organic bio-shock tumor I left inside. The walker blew apart, its pilot sharing a similar demise.

However, this wasn't the only nearby walker. Another one lumbered up, its mace hands flailing around as its gun crew loaded the cannon. I steered Chithagu in a sharp left turn before the gunner could align a shot, while putting distance between us and them.

The mortar went off, and it was grapeshot, with impressive reach. Several pellets bashed into my armor, shredding my tunic and producing blunt force sensations against my back and side, one such pellet grazing my forearm just above my armored bracelet. A stinging abrasion followed.

Chithagu faired no better. "Me has owies. Shrapnel making I ouch." He'd likely taken more hits than me.

"Your owies will heal faster than mine," I offered in rugged gasps. Even with my armored tank top, I probably had bruises aplenty.

As we maneuvered away from the armor's gunning sights, a dismounted Nyufalng swordswoman drew her piece and charged a Marandan infantryman. He wielded two matching swords, a Berserker. The man charged and cut low, severing the woman's feet with his right blade and stabbing her neck with his right. Tossing her corpse aside, the Berserker glared at us, raising his weapons.

I raised my shield and scythe-hammer as Chithagu faced the twin sword-slinger. The foe charged, but instead of going straight, he moved sideways to evade Chithagu's claws. The man was to my left, raising one saber for a downward hack. I let loose my tongue, impaling his brain through the left eye. Yet as he fell, so did a Nyufalng creation. Gunfire rang out behind me. I turned and raised the kalsahun.

A line of shooters had amassed, rifles drawn and aimed in a perfect formation. More shots came as the line slowly marched closer. Two slugs bounced off my shield.

"Get more owie," Chithagu snarled, suggesting he'd taken another hit. Evasive action was necessary with the shooters advancing as they were. I'd draw my bow-gun and aim from a more advantageous spot.

"Alright let's move ou-" I didn't finish my command. From a blind spot, a Marandan weapon bashed against my side, throwing me off Chithagu's back. I hit the dirt on my stomach before rolling over, right onto my impacted side. My armor provided less protection against this than against the grapeshot pellets, and this blow came from a handheld weapon.

Between me and Chithagu was one of the exotic throwing knives use by Sindreo's forces, a weapon with a blade that branched out in various directions that gave it angular momentum for heavy damage. I sat up, feeling cramps as I breathed. Before me, Chithagu was neck-to-neck with the offending blade thrower. Normally, the grunt would be dead by now, chomped apart by Chithagu's jaws.

But this case was different. The man swayed back and slammed his shield against Chithagu's snout. My steed recoiled from the blow, and the grunt drew his sword, reading a pass. And my bow-gun was still hooked in the saddle.

Before I could ready my tongue though, my steed swung his tail around, tripping the enemy. This gave him an opening, and he bit into the man's leg. The armored greave did nothing to stop his shin from being gnawed off just below the knee. Unable to stand, Chithagu pounced upon him, pinning him under the shield. His sword arm was broken with a claw swipe, before a second blow crushed his skull.

I hadn't forgotten the rifle line, and they'd not forgotten us. More slugs were fired, and one struck Chithagu's back leg. He growled and slumped down, limping.

I crawled over to him, staying low to make myself a less obvious target. My side ached, and Chithagu looked in equally worn shape. He made panting noises, breathing heavily. Fatigue was settling over him. I drew my crossbow from his saddle and lifted my shield, gauging the shooters once more.

Now they were closer, aiming for the less injured Nyufalng creations and troops. And, their garb was more decorated then the riders, grunts, and artillery pilots we'd seen thus far. That meant something.

Yes, it was them. These rifle-toting troops were the Duke's vanguard. We'd thinned his ranks and drawn out his personal bodyguards, just as a certain someone ordered as per the battle strategy.

And this wasn't really my fight. I kept the kalsahun raised defensively, but lowered the crossbow as a shadow loomed over me. That certain someone appeared, hair and sigil flowing, daukaisna in hand. Ruqojjen stared down the last enemy rank, who in turn aimed for him.

Bullets flew as the gunners aimed their pieces. The daukaisna moved swift as a windmill blade, metallic plunks sounding off. One rifle man's lips burst apart as a slug was deflected back into his mouth. He went down, a second guard following suit after his legs and chest were nailed. The gunners reloaded and fired some more, only to have their shots ricocheted back. I counted six more gunners crumple and fall.

Now they realized it, even the best aiming would do nothing against a man of Ruqojjen's talent. Bayonets were fixed and blades were drawn as the vanguard broke its firing line and charged.

The first man upon the High Shenthaxa was gutted from the daukaisna's jagged blade. The next was impaled through the chest. A few slashes and stabs later, the Duke's vanguard was halved.

But the fanatical troops of Sindreo's personal bodyguard did not let up their assault. The last dozen or so guardians rushed to the man symbolizing defiance to their leader's will. The daukaisna drew blood with every other motion.

Finally, only two vanguard troops remained, a man with a shield and mace, and a woman with a bayoneted rifle. The man charged, shield before him. The High Shenthaxa swung his choice weapon forward, its toothed blade scraping the shield surface with a drawn motion. This acted like a hacksaw. The shield was split in half horizontally, exposing the man behind. Another super-powered cut severed the man's hands, and detached his spine from his pelvis. As his four piece corpse hit the ground, the woman rushed in with her bayonet raised. Ruqojjen side stepped and chopped vertically into the woman's hip, taking off her left leg. A diagonal chop removed the upper corner of her skull.

"YOU DARE DEFY ME?"

Through the battlefield din, an amplified voice rang out, and it wasn't Ruqojjen's. This voice sounded familiar. Yes, I'd heard it back in the Marandan factory.

Only this time, it was tinged with anger.

_change in s & n_

Though I got very little sleep in the warehouse room the previous night, I didn't feel tired. I was likely running on adrenaline. I'd sort of been doing that since escaping the prison disguised as Jelmz. Now that I had a golden opportunity to name this mystery town and escape my captors, the adrenaline rush was manifest.

Most of my captors were gone. I didn't know where, but that mattered not. I just wanted to get the hell out before they came back. The clock was ticking even faster now. Jelmz corpse would be discovered _today_. By that time, I'd be long gone. My plan was to get the necessary info and bail. I'd given myself a time slot to accomplish this. Further acquaintanceship with my captors in that time would simply come as a bonus.

The town was less active now. Earlier there was noise aplenty. I hid out in the warehouse until it passed, to avoid the locals' rush to…somewhere. My stomach growled upon my departure, so a meal necessary. I used more of Jelmz's currency to pay for lunch, my final meal at his expense.

My plan was unchanged. I'd explore the citadel to the east, the same place where I met Ms. Voldruine, her pet crocodile, and Mr. Red the previous day. I paid for a carriage ride, having little money afterward.

The citadel stood tall and firm as it had yesterday. I walked across the same lawn and through the same pair of double doors, into the same entry hall. Now for the real exploration. Unlike last time, there were fewer people roaming about. Still, I wouldn't presume there were none. I'd stray from anyone who got too close.

In the next chamber, I found a map display. Too bad it was stationary. I couldn't bring it with me unless I tore it from the wall, and even then it was large and heavy. Nonetheless, it was labeled in detail. A storage room was around a couple of corners. Surely that place held the answers I sought.

I made haste for the closet. A few armed folks paced the halls. I kept my distance, and they had no interest in me. So far, no confrontations.

And there it was, a lone door composed of engraved metal, leading into a treasure trove of desired information. Was it locked? Maybe not, considering the nature of this town. This whole city was a restricted area. Anyone who got this far inside was presumed a member of the said occupant group. The only exception was yours truly, but only I knew this.

I reached for the knob. It turned loosely. Escape was getting close. The door led into a darkened room. Left of the doorway was a light switch. Flipping it revealed shelves lining most of the wall. There were shelves in the middle as well, forming aisles in the floor. But these were empty. My search had just gotten easier than expected.

The boxes on the shelves were numerous, but labeled. I just had to find one that looked promising, like a box of maps or geographic related content.

Low and behold, I found one labeled **Local Maps**. Luck was on my side thus far. I pulled the box off the shelf and peeked inside. There they were, folded paper graphics of this place, wherever it was. I grabbed one and removed it, reading its cover.

A lump was in my throat. Maybe I should've expected this, knowing I'd been taken to someplace far from Narshe. Maybe I was prepared in some way. Panic wasn't a factor, and confusion was marginal, though some still remained. How I got here was unanswered, even though 'here' was now identified.

_Don't waste time Leonard. Get what you need and get the fuck out._

My inner voice was back, reminding me that time was of the essence. I had a local town map. My plan was to leave this garrison city and contact Figaro out in the sticks, away from urbanization. For that, I'd need a map of the surrounding countryside. Sorting through the city maps, I found one. I pushed the box back into place, gripping my new acquisitions. Now I could…

"Hey you."

My pulse quickened, but I stood still. Breathing to slow my heartbeat, I faced the doorway. A woman stood there, clad in long boots and an armored cuirass over a short-sleeved tunic top. A rifle was slung across her shoulder, and a mace hung from her belt.

_Just act normal,_ I thought internally. _Act like you're just another one of them._ "Good afternoon." I greeted the local, who took a few paces inside the storage room. "Can I help you with something?"

She tiled her head toward the box before me. "This is an open area where we store shit, but why take stuff out?" She pointed at the unconcealed maps in my hand.

"These?" I had to blend in once more. I could not lose my secrecy this close to getting out. "I was ordered to obtain them from here." For the moment, I was one of them.

She blinked. "Ordered? By who?"

This was not a surprise question, and the answer came before I knew it. Who better to issue my directive than someone who was _technically _still in town but unable to deny my claim? "By Jelmz."

"Right." She was convinced, partly. "What for? It just seems odd he'd ask for such."

"He didn't say, but I'll find out when I report back to him." I shoved the maps into a pocket of my coat, _Jelmz's_ coat actually. This was my fourth day wearing his gear and passing as my new enemies. One way or another, it would be the last.

I was about to leave, until the woman commented on something that I didn't expect. "Jelmz is the guy who observed the imprisoned Narshe Coward a few days back, when the regular inspector was out of town. Did you hear about that?"

So Jelmz had only been a substitute, not a replacement. And my supposed captivity was no secret here in town.

My mouth twisted into a hateful grimace, but the armored mask concealed it. Of course I knew about Jelmz and his assignment. I'd been running paranoid ever since jumping him in the jail cell. Again, I wasn't fully dishonest in my answer. "Yeah. He said a thing or two about that guy."

"I'm glad we jailed his sorry ass." The woman's voice was beaming with pride and scorn. "There's no excuse for cowardice like his. He calls it 'civility' but he's a fucking moron. Oh well. What would you expect from a man aptly dubbed 'Narshe Coward'?"

I could feel my blood pressure rising to new levels. Surely my face was burning scarlet behind the armored mask. "I wouldn't know. I never saw the prisoner." Inside I was an inferno of resentment, but outside, I had to be something opposite.

"You're not missing much." The woman folded her arms. "But, he'll be of use. Today in fact. I'm sure of it. The boss will give that little cocksucker a purpose in life. Sure, the coward may die, but if so, it's no loss."

_FUCK YOU BITCH! Don't test my civility. _My hands tightened against the maps, a means to keep from grabbing the axe and chopping into the bitch in front of me. I could see every gory detail, her broken nose, crushed lips, and scattered teeth, red carnage streaking the floor, the walls, and even the ceiling as I gave this bitch a taste of her own uncivilized medicine.

But the satisfying image was only an illusion of my preferences. I had to restrain myself.

However, I didn't have to stay in her company. "I should make haste. Jelmz is waiting."

"That he is. So hustle along." She gestured behind her at the open door. I walked for it, too slow to suggest my eagerness to get away from her. "Come around later tonight and watch that Narshe Coward get what's coming to him."

I was back in the hallway before I could contemplate any response, hostile or otherwise. My pulse slowed a little, my reward for leaving that bitch behind.

Happy for solitude once more, I moved down the corridor and studied the city map, looking for the best path out of town, one that didn't have guards posted at regular intervals.

I found a _possible_ escape route, but I'd have to see the place to judge whether I could sneak out successfully or not. I was one step closer to my goal. I could taste escape from this garrison.

But what then? I'd have to get in touch with Edgar, and he'd have to devise a means to pick me up, one that my captor's wouldn't notice.

Some of those problems were already solved. I still had Jelmz's radio gauntlet. I'd removed the battery to prevent his buddies from contacting me after that first message. The battery was still in his jacket. Surely I could contact Figaro from here. Edgar's radios were top-notch, and I'd already determined that Jelmz and his people carried gear that was no less impressive.

But that left a more sinister problem. My absence would soon be discovered when Mr. Red or his companions inspected my old jail cell. They'd immediately contact Jelmz's wrist cuff and zero in upon my location. If Edgar could track a radio broadcast from external equipment, these militants could surely trace the signals of their own gear. And that was before their _other_ resources factored in. Disabling Jelmz's radio signal would make no difference by that point.

At least I didn't expect my escape to go easy throughout. My luck was diminishing the closer I got.

_change in s & n_

"How dare you challenge my glory!" The angry voice resonated once again.

Blood dripped from Ruqojjen's daukaisna as he gripped it with both hands, naming the voice. "I'll fuck with your glory if I want to, Sindreo Geminsa."

Atop a small cliff some fifteen feet high, a lone figure appeared. There he was, the incarnation of mental deficiency made flesh. His stringy hair hung in waves down to his collarbone, and dark stubble filled his chin and cheeks. Large domed plates encrusted with gems covered his shoulders. From the shoulder guards hung a dark gold cape that encircled his person.

"Damn you!" bellow the Duke. "I will not allow insubordinates like yourselves to usurp my fame. I am Sindreo Geminsa, Duke of the cosmos, ruler of the eons. The Goddesses themselves will cower before me. I'll command the universe, and become one with eternity." Every word from the Duke's mouth echoed twofold off the shores and hills. I almost had to cover my ears.

Yet Ruqojjen just phased out the Duke's volume, and words. He casually pointed skyward. "Fuck you blabbermouth. I see no changes in the cosmos."

"Not yet." Sindreo's voice level came down immensely. "You're in the way. I'll remove you, just I as I removed Gallisirva."

The High Shenthaxa brandished his gore-covered long sword. "We're not like that cowardly vice-fearing bitch. Even you know that much." He leveled the toothed blade at the man above. "Enough gabbing. If you mean shit, arm yourself, Duke-head."

Sindreo scowled, his forehead wrinkling and his brows arching. He leapt off the precipice and threw off the gold mantle. A silver and copper breastplate covered a dull yellow tunic. Engraved writs cuffs were fixed just above his hands. His boots were leather with plated shin guards, and twin gray stripes traversed outer legs of his black pants.

The most impressive feature though, was in his belt. A sword rapier was hung in a brown polished sheath, a cluster of wires forming an arched guard over the handle. Sindreo reached for his favored weapon and drew it in single motion of ringing steel. The straight, double-edged weapon was brought to bear in a fencing stance.

This was it, the Duke of defects and Nyufalng chief were facing off. Neither would spare the other one a shred of mercy. Chithagu and I had front row seats, but with my side cramps and his injured foot, we could only watch. Besides, the Duke was beyond us. Ruqojjen was on his level.

To prove my point, Sindreo said nothing. He raised his weapon and charged. Just as quickly, Ruqojjen deflected the attack. The Duke paced back a step and pushed out, recoiled and pushed out some more…_much_ more. The rapier was a blur as he performed dozens of stabs per second, if my estimation was correct.

However, all the stabs either hit thin air or were parried by the daukaisna. Ruqojjen's final parry stopped the duke's blade. Both swords were locked against one another at ninety degrees. "Who are you?" growled Sindreo. "Your swordplay is fierce, yet foreign."

"My name's not for use by inferiors like you, motherfucker." Ruqojjen placed his off hand against daukaisna's backside and pushed harder. This extra leverage overpowered the Duke, whose build wasn't much different than Ruqojjen's.

"Than you'll be one more nameless casualty of my golden reign." With that, Sindreo back-stepped several paces, his footwork a blur much like his fencing performance. He then sidestepped, beyond the daukaisna's reach. "You want a fight, I'll give you fight." He lifted the rapier high. It glowed, and he was engulfed in some odd radiance. Of course, charged soul energy.

Suddenly, several duplicate images of him spread out. I lost track of their number, as they danced wildly without pattern or rhythm. They all made the exact same movements. The image copies were mimicking him, wherever he was among them.

Each clone image spoke with his voice. "Here's your fight. Find me if you can, before I take you down." As if one Duke Sindreo wasn't enough for this world. He wanted his image plastered throughout Sayitheren, and he was literally getting just that, on a small scale. His voice (or voices) took an edge of sadistic pleasure.

Sindreo clones amassed around the lone High Shenthaxa. Then, one by one, they rushed him. He did nothing, just stood there as the illusionary swords passed through him, leaving no wounds or damage to his armor vest. They soon increased their movements, attacking him in pairs, one head-on and one from the side. Yet he remained still, not defending or attacking.

Then I realized these were purely images, not the real Duke. The duplicates could not be hit, nor could they hit anything themselves. They were decoy targets to fool and deceive the enemy.

As the false images danced about, Ruqojjen raised his blade. He slashed diagonally at one particular image. Suddenly, all but one of the images faded into nothingness. The last one remaining staggered to the ground. Some feet beyond him was a domed shoulder guard crudely split in half. The upper left sleeve of Sindreo's tunic was torn and bloodied.

"An impressive trick, but it's got loopholes." The High Shenthaxa kept his sword trained on the Duke. "You emit loads of spirit energy in using such a technique. Your cloned images do not. I tracked energy emission to find you among the clones."

The Duke stood. "It's been some time since I fought a person of your skill level. Even the best Dragoons from House Virnone didn't last this long against me. No matter. You're strong enough to taste my superior technique." Using the arched hand guard of his rapier, the Duke spun the sword in circular motions around his hand. In seconds, the blade was a silvery blur. The breeze picked up, an artificial breeze generated from his new technique.

The rapier flashed even before it came to blows against the daukaisna. Ruqojjen took a sideways stance as the Duke made pass after pass, each attack blowing dust and dirt about. Each stab was deflected by the sturdy Jrysthovuhn long sword. "What's wrong foreigner?" cackled the Duke, his voice amplified by some spirit energy discharge. "Can't attack? Well maybe next, you can't even defend." Savage laughter echoed off the hillside.

I saw miniature sparks of lightning surround the rapier blade. The next blocked pass caused Ruqojjen to lose hitting footing. He shuffled to regain his stance, as the Duke reached back and stabbed forward yet again.

This time, a burst of light flecks and a crackling boom marked the clash of swords. The daukaisna was parried upwards…and the Duke had a vital opening. Like any pragmatic fighter, he exploited it. His blade pushed out once more.

I bit lip. I couldn't see the full results of this decisive strike, but Ruqojjen's knees gave way. The Duke's fencing blade had found its mark.

How was this unfolding? Ruqojjen had lasted longer than this against the Council's loyalists back in Jrysthovuh. That a mentally deficient sub-human like Sindreo Geminsa had taken him down like this made no sense. But the High Shenthaxa knelt there, before Maranda's deranged ruler.

"I told you, I rule this world!" Sindreo smiled aggressively. "By choice or by this blade, you will bow to my glorious might!"

Maybe not all was as it seemed. I got this instinctive feeling that I didn't grasp the whole picture. Details and aspects possibly were lost on Sindreo as well. He looked back at Ruqojjen and readied another sword pass.

Suddenly, Ruqojjen was on his feet once more. The daukaisna's pommel was shoved upwards into the Duke's chin. Sindreo was thrown off balance. Ruqojjen, sure-footed, raised his limey glowing long sword with both hands and sliced down, to the side.

A scream of surprise resonated throughout the scenery. The Duke's prized rapier was on the ground, along with a broken chunk of his wrist guard. A severed hand gripped the rapier's handle.

It was all a deception on the Shenthaxa's part. Ruqojjen had faked injury somehow, catching the Duke off guard, playing off Sindreo's delusions of superiority. As the Duke's yells of agony rang out, the daukaisna was thrust into his left hip. From my vantage point, I could see part of the tip emerge from his lower backside.

When Ruqojjen pulled it out, Sindreo crumpled to his knees, bleeding from two major wounds. "H…how? Fucking hell…ghghgh." He coughed and gasped.

"Take that question to your grave." With both hands, the daukaisna was swung from Ruqojjen's waist level, equal to the kneeling Duke's neckline. With a single, wide slice, Sindreo Geminsa's head was cleaved off, bouncing once against the dirt ground. The body toppled over, blood pooling around the corpse.

The Duke of dementia was no more.

Ruqojjen stood victorious over Sindreo's broken corpse…momentarily. The Nyufalng leader limped a few steps, shoving his weapon into the dirt and using it like a crutch. With my own cramps subsiding, I went to his side. Apparently, his wound wasn't completely faked.

"What happened?" I asked. "I thought he gored you for a moment, then wondered if you planned something to fool him."

Ruqojjen unfastened his armored vest. "I had no interest in dragging this battle out, and wanted to kill him quickly. I knew his super-powered thrusts and parries would make for a long battle if he maintained them in his guard, so I gave him an opening at which to strike."

"Well he took the bait. But, he did get you." I watched him remove the vest. Indeed, the Duke's rapier had found its mark. A large reddish bruise filled Ruqojjen's bare chest, just below his sternum.

"I kept my own guard up, knowing a spirit energy defense was the best counter to his energy-enhanced passes." The High Shenthaxa coughed into his left hand. Traces of blood flecked into his palm. "Still, that last thrust transmitted his essence. I'm bleeding internally."

He refastened his vest and stood upright, breathing deeply. He'd been through worse, fighting against the Council and its minions. But this was the first time someone outside of Jrysthovuh gave him this serious an injury. That said plenty for the dead Duke's fencing talents.

And surely there were others with comparable fighting proficiency, others beyond Jrysthovuh.

"Can you fight some more? We still have a battle to win."

"Don't mind me, and I believe we're winning. The Duke and his vanguard were the last lines." Ruqojjen pointed the daukaisna's tip east. "Look ahead."

The last lines of Marandan cavalry, artillery, and infantry had fallen. Chithagu was already snaking on a dead troop's intestines, the fleshing pink tubes hanging out between his lips and teeth.

"I guess we'll have plenty of food for the Divine," I noted. "And for your wounds."

"Blood energy will help, but I'll need more than that." He shouldered his daukaisna. "I'll tell you on the way back." His radio gauntlet buzzed.

We gathered the dead from both sides. The Duke's injured were promptly neutralized, while our wounded were taken to a certain airship. Special care was given to the Duke's corpse, whose blood would provide some of the best energy.

As of today, we had no more enemies on this continent.

_change in s_

"Mmm. Now this is good shit." Qaurjaeda chomped into the guts of an officer from the Duke's army. Apparently, the guy's name was Lucius, for the Grav-wielder heard various grunts call the guy such during the fight, as the Pung Thoshidei crushed his skull with a single fist clap. Qaurjaeda liked blood from his chops and bit into the dead man's innards once more. "He's rather tasty, or should I say, del-Lucius."

"You just don't give up those puns." I chuckled sarcastically as he pulled out some organ meat. His essence had been drained in the battle, and he'd suffered a good share of wounds. His left upper arm had a long incision, his front left leg was bleeding in two places, and a stab wound lined up just below his naval.

All the chains in Yithadri's dome were empty, but we had few intact corpses to fill them. Most of the Duke's last minions had been dispatched in extensive manners. Even if the bodies were still in one piece, they'd lost much blood. Still, there was some left. I hung a few in the hanging shackles.

Ruqojjen reclined on a large pillow supplied by Yithadri's mystics. The Honored Shamaness knelt down and ran her fingers over the bruise on his chest. "He got you good. This needs time to heal in full." She stood, leaning on the central platform's guardrail. "I need not explain that you should recuperate before partaking in more action."

"Great, a forced furlough." Ruqojjen sat up, adjusting the oversized beanbag underneath him. "But, if there's any time for such, it's now. Sindreo Geminsa's blood is ours for the taking."

"Maranda can start rebuilding itself." I fixed a dead woman into a set of binds. "Like the Tzenish people did in the wake of House Virnone's demise, certain Marandans will join our cause. Many have taken interest in our principles already, like that youth from Asniele and those workers in the factory." I hung another dead Sindreo-lover from the shackle chains. Chithagu just sat there, watching me and wagging his tail. "And you get the easy work," I said with mock annoyance "despite your 'owies' healing much quicker than mine, although most of the cramps are gone. My armored tank top did wonders, a stylish piece feminine protective wear."

"That reminds me." Qaurjaeda looked up from his Marandan snack. "What's the official type of women's armor? Not chainmail, not plate mail, but…" He inserted a dramatic pause. "Fe-mail."

I fell to my knees buckled, and before I could stop myself, I was snorting amid laughs. "That's so bad, it's awesome. Tell that to Baokiydu. His unimpressed reaction should make it all the better."

"I can't resist. I'm in a party mood." The Grav-wielder faced the Nyufalng leader. "Do we get a victory celebration? What's the next order of military business, and when?"

"I recover from this internal bleeding." Ruqojjen accepted a drink brought in by one of Yithadri's clerics. He took a long sip. "There's no point in rushing the next move anyway. Let's give interested Marandans time to join our movement."

"And maybe we'll hear something from Tanrevilt," Yithadri stated "something to help along our next move when the time comes."

Her talk of the Sergeant reminded me of my own question. "Has anyone heard from the Major? He didn't leave with the ambush parties, and he wasn't in our death squad earlier today. I'm still curious about a certain something."

Yithadri brushed her hair off her shoulders. "Ajalni, you'll actually get your answer very soon. Baokiydu, Dyal'xern, and Sdalsyra are gathering more blood suppliers to bring here. A special selection will be among the donors."

Finally, I could stop asking that question.

As Qaurjaeda and I hung a few more bodies from the chains, Ruqojjen's gauntlet radio buzzed loudly. He put down his half-empty beverage and answered the call. "Kagasjori." His face hardened. "What's wrong Baokiydu?" His tone became just as grim. "We'll be right there." His urgent tone filled the domed chamber. He stood up hastily, facing the Grav-wielder and I. "We have a serious problem. Follow me, quickly."

_change in s & n_

"A Figaroan soldier? Well I'm impressed." Having finished my moderate blitz lesson, I sat on the wall bench and listened to Sabin's words.

"He's already experienced for someone his age," Sabin laughed. "A junior veteran, if I ever knew one."

"I'm not surprised in the least." Celes remarked, tapping her Strato against the floor tile. "My only question is why Gau waited this long."

Locke and Celes were in town for the day, shopping for craft supplies and paying us visits. They dropped in at the right time for Sabin's update. Gau had chosen to join Figaro's army. In this uncertain time, with new super monsters roaming about and civil disputes over the plumbing taxation, Gau claimed the army needed all extra help it could get. Young but hardened as a Returner, Gau would make a might fine soldier for the Figaroan military.

"How's Relm?" asked Locke, fingering the grip of his Atma broadsword.

"She's fine. She and Marielle are at my place right now. Gau might stay at the army base form time to time, but Relm still needs a temp home." Sabin looked north, toward the hillside cottage he shared with Marielle, and as of recent, with Relm and Gau. They moved in with the priestess and sensei when the youth academy's closed its dorms. "I got some new sheets, blankets, pillows, and a mattress for the kids to sleep on. Relm's probably making the new bed as we speak. Gau's getting a uniform and standardized Figaroan army gear."

Locke stood and lifted his Atma. "So Terra, care for a little bout, a chance to show me your stuff?"

"Why not. My search for Umaro in his own caves yielded nothing. And this is a training room, so why not do something productive." I stood, gripping my scimitar.

Before we could face off though, loud knocking came from outside the dojo doorway. Sabin went for the doors. "Edgar? What's come over you?"

The King was dressed in his Dragoon boots and armored chest plate, Aura lance in hand. His face bore a look of energy and radiance I'd not seen in a long time. In fact, the last time he even resembled this was just after we evacuated Kefka's crumbling tower, upon slaying the mad magician. What had come over the King? Was it…good news perhaps?

"Fantastic. You're all here." The King looked at Celes, Locke, and I. "Close the door and take a seat. I'll explain."

Sabin closed the doors once Edgar was inside. "Are you alone here, without guests?"

"Well, yeah." Sabin took a seat next to me. "Why?"

"I don't want to announce this publically." Edgar propped the Aura Lance's pummel bulb against the dojo floor. He took a deep breath, confirming what I'd gathered from his vibrant look. "I have some fantastic news. One mystery's been solved, partially."

Still, I did not expect his next words. "I just got a radio transmission from Leonard."

I was flooded with shock and relief. After holding out all this hope for a cause that was all but lost, I finally had the best possible answer. "Where is he?"

Edgar, more collected than myself, answered objectively. "He sent his message from the Cradhawch Plateau."

I stood up shakily. Conflicting thoughts of joy and confusion overtook me. "_WHAT!_ What the hell's he doing _there?_"

"Kidnapping." Edgar was succinct. "He was taken against his will."

By now, Locke found his voice. "Who the fuck did it?" he snarled furiously.

"The Cradhawch Plateau?" Celes's voice trailed off. "How? Why?"

"He's a _long_ way from home," Sabin remarked. "To bring him so far away suggests big plans."

"I'll explain on the way. I'm glad you're armed. Let's go." The King motioned outside. "Sabin, tell Marielle about this 'on-call' excursion. Gau and Ziegfried will join us."

"Excursion?" Sabin was blank. Edgar's implications made partial sense, given his armed attire. "What's going on Bro? Why do you need us?"

"Again, I'll explain everything on the way. Just follow me." The King walked outside and looked back. Curious, we followed.

"So he's alive." I watched Sabin lock up the training room. "All this time, Leonard's been alive in captivity." I started trembling, with angst and eagerness.

_change in s & n_

"So that's how you found him?" Ruqojjen asked Baokiydu.

When I was in Maranda with four of the Pung Thoshidai, disrupting operations inside the Duke's factories, one of Baokiydu's tasks was put in the hands of a Nyufalng officer.

That officer was Nyufalng Major Sam Jelmz.

Outside in the hallway was a light switch for this dungeon cell. We'd flipped it on, and the room's details were revealed.

"When I came in here, the stench of death was really thick. When I pulled the blanket off and reached for the chains, I found them like so." Baokiydu lifted up one of the shackles. Its cuff had been filed down, as though it had been scraped against something rough and rigid, until an opening was made.

"But how?" I asked, stunned. "How could that little prick file down the shackles? What did he use?"

Ruqojjen knelt down, examining the stone floor immediately around the Major's corpse. "Scrape marks on the concrete, deep ones, suggesting repeated friction."

"Then I saw this, and knew instantly." Baokiydu pointed at Sam's hand. Tattooed on the dead man's knuckles were letters of the classical Jrysthovuhn alphabet, Sam's unique body art.

"How was he killed?" I asked aloud, my voice on edge. "We know who killed him, but how?"

The Sensorian pulled Sam's body forward. A deep puncture was at the base of the Major's neck. "That explains the bloodied piece of broken dinner plate underneath him."

The picture was clear. "Damn it!" I shrieked, realizing what we didn't know would seriously hurt us. While we instigated riots in Maranda's capital, Leonard Gurosawn the Narshe Coward freed himself from his prison shackles, killed our man, and took his gear. After live prisoners were no longer kept in mass numbers, we no longer required passwords for those leaving the dungeon complex. That is what sparked the prison riot more than half a year back. That riot caused us to rethink our captivity measures.

The turnabout was ironic. A bogus Nyufalng guard causes a jail riot by not knowing the exit word, said riot ends the holding of live prisoners, which makes the exit password null, which allows another imposter to leave the complex unchecked.

The ether-soaked blanket had failed somehow, but that was just an afterthought. "He walked amongst us for three or so days. He could've seen us all, and we didn't fucking know." My voice grew desperate, a knot welling up in my stomach, imitating my twisting patterns of thought. "What's he learned in that time?"

"Lockdown and perimeter?" asked Qaurjaeda. "We gotta find him, fast."

Locking down the city would set a perimeter, prohibiting departure from town. Every masked person would be searched afterward, and we'd find the escaped Narshe Coward.

But Sam Jelmz had been killed three days back. Leonard Gurosawn could be anywhere by this time. There was no perimeter to set. I looked at Ruqojjen. "What now?"

"Lockdown will be enforced, assuming he's still in town. But I won't presume that." Ruqojjen left the jail cell.

Outside stood Dyal'xern. "What if he's left town?" asked the Air-smasher.

All eyes were on Ruqojjen. Surely he had something in mind. "There's one way to find out. We'll go from there. If he took all of Jelmz's gear, he took a certain…piece."

_change in s & n_

"Relax Terra," I urged. "You'll accomplish nothing if you get sidetracked like so."

The half-esper woman stopped fidgeting, for a moment. "I'm just…anxious Celes. That's all. Leonard's alive, and someone has it out for him, what with bringing him oversees like that."

Before the great collapse, the Cradhawch Plains filled the land region east of Albrook. With the floating continent's ascension and Kefka's Lights of Judgment, the flatland was deformed and raised, forming what was today known as the Cradhawch Plateau.

Edgar summarized Leonard's last radio message as briefly as he could, without omitting the essentials. Leonard claimed to be hostage in a dark jail cell for a quantity of time he couldn't measure. He freed himself from chains by wearing them down against the concrete floor. When a new jailor came to inspect the cell, he jumped the man and took his gear, which included a mask and radio gauntlet. After exploring for three days incognito, Leonard found a crucial opportunity to slip away, leaving Albrook for the wooded Cradhawch Plateau.

But why Albrook? What did Sireck and Edrina's House want from a Narshean resident?

We had to move quickly. According to Edgar, Leonard's captors would find their comrade in his jail cell and learn of his escape. Locke, Sabin, Terra, and I followed the King to the command center in the capital. Ziegfried and Gau were already there. Though the Falcon was still inert, Edgar commandeered an airborne freight vessel for this op…whatever it was. Everything happened so fast, I still hadn't fit all the pieces together.

Still unsure, I approached the King. "What's this about? Are we just extracting Leonard, or what? Why all this back up?"

A full company of Figaro troops had come along, many of them with chocobo mounts. We didn't have armor units though. Edgar wanted our ship to move with haste.

"Leonard's captors will come looking for him, if they aren't already." The King looked south.

"You think they'll find him?" asked Locke, adjusting a throwing discus in his belt. All that soul-to-weapon training with Zeigrfied could be tested shortly. "The Plateau's a sprawling, uneven piece of geography."

"What we can track, they can track," Edgar explained. "I have a fix on Leonard's position thanks to his radio signal. If we can do that, so can these new enemies."

Edgar wasn't a man to use that term casually. "You're declaring Sireck and Edrina enemies rather quickly," I noted. "What do they want with Leonard anyway?"

"I apologize if I spoke too fast for clarity." The Kind faced us. "Nothing, because they no longer exists. Leonard's captors took down the House of Albrook, for whatever reason."

Suddenly, things were falling into place, gradually. "They meant business." Sabin cracked his knuckles. "He's not fleeing rookies."

"So why are you coming along?" Terra asked the King. "Are you curious to see these…new enemies for yourself, knowing they're a force to be reckoned with?"

"Right. Leonard underlined tenfold the severity of this matter. Even from the little he shared, there's a tangled web of schemes and malice we know nothing about." He looked back at the military team. "How goes the inventory?"

Among the present staff were Lieutenants Paul Edderbricht and Deanne Sarholme. While this was a get in, grab Leonard, and get out operation that wouldn't involve a drawn out conflict, we carried some hard-hitting weapons along. Most prominent was the upgraded lightning cannon. Some bio gas grenades and respective launchers were also included. Motorized drill pikes were in the package, for close up conflict.

"All good Sire." Lt. Edderbricht carried a lightning gun, and his long mace was slung across his back.

"I believe you'll want one of these." Lt. Sarholme offered Edgar an auto crossbow, a signature weapon of Figaro. Her shield and short sword were tucked in her belt. "What were you saying earlier, about those so-called 'jewel beings'?"

Edgar folded the crossbow and slung it over his shoulder. "Be wary of any being with an oval-shaped jewel set in their forehead. Leonard repeated this for emphasis, though he didn't say why."

"He'd know better than any of us," Sabin acknowledged. "He walked among them."

"He said they only number five, but I won't downplay his warning." The King looked up front at the piloting room. "Setzer, how goes the radio signal?"

"Loud and clear," called the gambler pilot. The radios in cargo ships were more powerful than handheld communicators, and could track a certain signal form greater distances. "As we get closer, we'll get more accurate on Leonard's precise whereabouts."

"What's the plan?" asked Locke. We can't hover in this large a ship, so it's inevitable we touch down. But if they know where coming, and they likely presume such, it might urge them to boost their efforts in finding Leonard. I'd hate for our loud arrival to cause his death."

"We'll have to land a distance from him, then direct him to the designated extraction zone," Edgar surmised.

"What if they reach him first and surround him?" I asked, knowing the enemy had the advantages of locality and closer distance. Leonard fled Albrook on foot, from what Edgar said. They could catch up with him before we even cleared the ocean.

"We rush to the rescue, as we're prepared to do." The King's attempt of gusto didn't create the usual enthusiasm. It was obvious why.

Terra was shaking nervously again. "Let's not be too late." Understandably, none of us could console her. We all shared her fear.

_change in s & n_

_Well if nothing else, you're getting a wonderful sight-seeing tour._

The voice inside my head was making light of the danger, either out denial or as a coping mechanism. I surely knew of the danger I hadn't yet cleared, so I presumed this was a coping measure. Though all-out panic wasn't consuming me, I was running on adrenaline, and anxiety.

I left the Albrook garrison through the eastern edge of town, along the Falpuryn Hills. The town map served me well up to that point. Guard patrols were less dense on that side of town. However, one particular aspect there might've averted me from such an exit.

That domed structure on the nearest hilltop overlooking the garrison. Where enemy captives were hung nearly upside-down, cut open, and drained of their blood, so monstrous body parts could be given to the wounded militants, complete with nightmarish abilities. Their deadly function was psychologically upsetting, every bit as their grotesque form.

Was _that_ my planned fate? If I'd fallen comatose in the dungeon cell, would _that_ hang-up-and-bleed-dry method be inflicted upon me? Knowing they had another specific person who they 'bled out' multiple times was enough to imply this, graphically. For whatever reason, they were keeping that man alive, repeatedly draining his blood while leaving enough to sustain him on a vegetative level. If there was ever a compendium of true nightmares, such a practice would fill the majority of it.

Still, I reminded myself the domed shrine had few sentries, and I naturally kept my distance, edging around the hill's bottom, far beyond eye sight of the dome's occupants. An idea crossed my mind as I slipped past the dome of controlled carnage. A graveyard was likely beneath my feet, a mass grave where they discarded bodies they'd fully drained of blood. I never looked to ascertain this though. My eyes were fixed ahead, sighting my escape route.

Despite moving on foot, I'd covered ample distance. This Cradhawch Plateau was rugged, and foliage regions grew here and there. I kept moving, a jog for most of the time, a brisk walk when I began tiring out. I avoided a full on sprint, even though I _wanted_ to escape as quickly as possible. They weren't chasing me quite yet, and if altercation was inevitable, I wanted to save my strength. Just before Jelmz entered my cell, I'd been ready to die. I still kept some of that readiness. The only way I'd go back to Albrook was in bloodied pieces. I would not allow myself to be taken alive, not with that blood-draining procedure.

Fortunately, I had a few edges. Number one, the head start was mine. Secondly, they were out fighting that Duke Sindreo guy earlier. They'd be fatigued and wounded upon returning. Of course, they'd immediately take to their 'donors', electing me as the next one. Then, they'd find Jelmz, and my secret would be concealed no more.

I was miles from Albrook by this time, but this was their land. I didn't know its layout. Happily, my Returner friends did. I'd gotten a radio call from Edgar, about thirty minutes back. He was on his way, with a militarized team in an airship. He directed me to a place amid some light forestry, a place close to their planned landing zone that would also provide cover if my pursuers moved fast. I kept the radio on so my location would stay in their sensors.

For now, I could only keep moving northeast, following Edgar's directive. I'd removed Jelmz's mask, as to not get mistaken for the enemy by the much-needed rescuers. As for the real enemy, they'd know if they found me, disguise or not. The mask was just a piece of armor now. Its use of hiding my identity was void.

As I strolled along a rolling path in a clearing, the radio buzzed once more. "Edgar, is that you?" Silence. "Edgar?" The only response was some heavy breathing and abstract grunts. Then, the transmission died. Edgar would never do that to me.

Edgar hadn't sent this transmission.

I froze. This was it. They'd found Jelmz's corpse by this time, and called his radio to find it, and the person they knew had taken it. The Returners were no longer the only ones aware of my location.

The enemy was on their way, and I still wasn't even halfway to Edgar's extraction zone. The enemy would move fast, and I only had my feet.

I moved northeast again. Returners and enemies alike were coming for me. It was just a matter of who reached me first. One was already close by, somewhere. Had Edgar's vessel even landed yet?

Such was beyond my control, but one thing was certain. I would force the opposition to kill me, if reality came down to such. What did they call themselves again?

Yes, the Nyufalng. If a certain part of the Ts'aosra'iy was correct, such a name was perfect for an arrogant, blood-hungry paramilitary fringe organization like them.

_change in s & n_

"Keep northeast," rasped Baokiydu. "He's around there."

After spreading word that the imprisoned Narshe Coward impersonated Sam Jelmz upon killing him, a woman approached us with a very interesting tale. Earlier today, while we killed off the Duke and his final minions, she encountered a masked trooper in a storage room at the palace, taking maps from a box. When she inquired why, he said he was acting on orders from Jelmz.

That was him, roaming around our turf, not quite three hours before now. The woman was cleared of any negligence. After all, she had no idea she'd spoken to the Narshe Coward. None of us knew until examining the dungeon cell.

He was out of town, but not off this continent. He knew plenty about us, and he'd call on his overrated friends to bail him out. He carried Jelmz's radio, and that was a crucial element. We tracked him via that radio signal.

Unfortunately, having spent most of our resources and energy on the showdown with the Duke's army, we didn't have as much to spare in this desperate roundup. None of the Pung Thoshidai had charged their essences much after Sindreo's last stand. We had less than a hundred mounted troops for this manhunt. Able-bodied, non-fatigued troops were in short supply for the moment. Most of our company was un-mounted creations. Ruqojjen himself was absent, having Yithadri and her clerics tend to his wounds back in Albrook.

However, Uletarsji and Chiupanghow were tagging along.

"How's the signal?" I asked atop Chithagu. I still had the bow-gun, kalsahun, and rangamju.

"Healthy. In fact, he's moving slower than us," clarified the Sensorian. He used a radio device to track Jelmz's, sharing a mount with Sdalsyra. The Corrodess directed the creation along the rugged dirt path. "He must be on foot."

Despite their fantastic powers, none of the Pung Thoshidai could move at lightning-quick speeds. Speed was all that mattered in this case. Additionally, they wouldn't spend their limited energy on travel, if worse came to worse. Quarjaeda and Dyal'xern also rode mounts of their own.

I stared ahead, into the distance. Somewhere in that distance was the Narshe Coward. "Good, if he's on foot, maybe we'll catch up with him before his friends arrive."

"Anticipate that he expects us to follow him." Sdalsyra angled the mount past some dead, leafless trees. "In all likelihood, he knows we're coming anyway."

I looked about. Though our numbers weren't spectacular, our many still outmatched his one person. "He's running scared like the timid coward he is, looking over his shoulder. But he'll be cautious. We're not exactly sneaking about here. If he expects us, he'll do all he can to evade our superior numbers." I tried thinking as he would in this time. I was loath to admit such, but the Narshe Coward had grown a brain since his captivity. Killing and impersonating Jelmz was just one sample of that.

"And he won't surrender, if he's seen our blood draining methods," added Sdalsyra. "Cornering or surrounding him will motivate him. As long as he can fight, it will be to the death, especially since he knows certain…arts."

I fingered the bow-gun, hanging from Chithagu's saddle. "Than we kill him, right?"

"Obviously." Baokiydu tapped some buttons on his radio. "Orders are to find him and slay him, ASAP. He's evaded us once already. Plus, he likely knows loads about us. He'll share his finds very quickly. We can't allow him to leave this continent."

That knowledge could pose a problem. "He'll do his best to survive until his friends show, and they'll do his best to protect him once they do," I theorized.

"That's why we'll do things the unconventional way." The Sensorian looked up. "Lieutenant. The signal's growing. We're closing in."

"Right," affirmed the mounted officer. "Do your thing."

"Sdalsyra, go right. Ajalni, follow us." I steered Chithagu to follow the Sensorian's lead.

_change in s & n_

I'd covered much more ground en route to Edgar's rendezvous point. The ground slopped upwards, and some trees lines both sides of the gravelly path. Most of them were skeleton trees, but some contained darkened leaves.

As I reached the top of this incline, I heard it, behind me, growing louder each passing second. It sounded like a stampede.

I needn't look back. The enemy was on my heels, and they'd soon bear down upon me. I had to keep up the evasion act, but forward distance was no longer an option.

To my right were some moderately leafed trees and shrubs. They were my best bet for cover. I rushed in as the stampede behind me grew in volume. Once in the brown foliage, I kept moving deeper, placing more expired vegetation between me and the hunting party.

The foot trek and the adrenaline took their toll. Fatigue was settling over me. If there was a place to stop for a breather, it was here amid the shadows. I crouched in a bush and looked north. Sure enough, the enemy stormed past. I couldn't really see their numbers or forms, but the passing shadows were enough. My eyes were glued to them. Had they found me yet? If they were tracking my signal, they'd surely find it soon than later.

I didn't have to make it easy for them. It was time to place more distance between me and the hunters. I turned south and ran again, less hasty now as they ground was uneven amid the trees.

I'd barely considered this when I stepped on a few limp tree branches, mistaking them for a solid ground rock. They broke under my feet with a snap, and I tumbled forward. Placing my covered forearms ahead of myself, I fell into a dead bush, just beyond a thick oak.

A loud noise came overhead, too close for comfort.

Thrashing about the deceased shrubbery, I looked for the source. A metallic arrow, still quivery from flight, was embedded in the oak tree, where I'd been just before stepping on the branches. The tumble had saved my life.

But relief could not be savored. I looked at the arrow. Its butt end faced me, pointing away from the amassed hunting party. Whoever shot it had broken off from the main group, and I was now in their sights!

I'd been so hell bent on fleeing the large group that I'd not considered secondary, smaller groups. I ran into one, almost. The arrow came in from the southwest. The main party was to the north. My best escape route was to head east.

Without dusting myself off, I was on the move again, zigzagging so the arrow sniper would have a less convenient mark. A second bolt flew past, hitting a rock off to the side.

Okay, enough was enough. I was being shot at, so firing back was a no-brainer. I still had Jelmz's folding bow-gun and at some ammo carts on my person. I didn't see the sniper, but could at least fire in his or her general direction. I grabbed the crossbow in one hand and a cartridge in the other, running as I slid the two together.

Maybe that wasn't such a bright idea. While I was thus preoccupied, my feet stumbled into a log. I lurched forward again, the crossbow flying out of my grasp, into a heavy wad of underbrush. I couldn't stop and look for it, lest I make a stationary target. I rolled over, cursed under my breath, and was back on my feet. A third bolt sailed my way, unacceptably close, its sharp head slicing open my pant leg. I mad-dashed forward again, with no means to shoot back.

The heavy line of trees thinned out greatly further up. Oh well. The timbered region didn't provide any cover, so I wasn't leaving safety behind. The main party's paved trail led off to the north, so I'd still distance myself from them. I cut hard to the southeast as I approached the clearing.

In my panicked haste, I tripped yet again. Or had I? No, I didn't stumble. Something snagged my leg and pulled me down, like a rope snare. Snarling, I drew the axe and rolled over to face the grappling object. It was a long sticky thread, like a smooth string from a giant spider web. I raised the axe to sever the lasso when something wrapped around my wrist and the axe handle, another gelatinous cord.

"Enjoying your rigorous workout, Narshe Coward?" That harsh voice spoke equally harsh words. I clenched my teeth and faced the speaker. From out of the woods, he stepped, full beer gut, small dark right eye, large whitened left eye, and orange flesh just as I recalled them. The red oval shined in his forehead. "Well your exercise time's up. We got your ass now."

Mr. Red unfolded his arms as he closed the distance. I struggled against the slimy cables holding me down, but they were pulled even tighter. They led up to the branches of a tree. Sitting on a branch was the tall Ms. Purple, wielding a slimy string in each hand. She leapt off the tree limb, causing the goop lassos to dig further into my wrist and ankle somehow. As she stood, Ms. Voldruine exited the forest, atop her large horned crocodile mount. She folded a bow-gun and hung it in the creature's saddle. She'd been the sniper, and while she'd not hit her mark, it made no difference now.

This was it. They'd caught their prey, beating my friends to my person by some unknown interval of time. My only hope was in the blitz lessons I took from Sabin. Maybe a Fire Aura would melt these slime cords.

Mr. Red unfolded his arms and stretched out his hands. Large rough protrusions of bone extended from his palms, like thick knife blades emerging from his hands. "You escaped the prison, but your life ends here. I'll enjoy watching you bleed to death, Narshe Coward."

Cornered and desperately trying to conjure forth a blitz, my unwelcome alias aggravated me to new levels of hatred. "Fuck you lard ass. I have a name." I stared into the differing eyes of Mr. Red. Having explored Albrook enough, I'd learned his real name. "My name is Leonard, Baokiydu."

With the upper hand, Baokiydu was un-phased. "Big words from a little sub-human," he rasped. "They'll be your last."

The hunting party gathered around, as if to witness my execution. I was boxed in, even if I could melt the goop strings. There was no way out now, not with the entire hunting party staring me down. The Nyufalng had won.

The heavyset Baokiydu loomed over me, smirking. The face of my old tormentor would be the final sight I beheld. I cringed in rage. "Don't worry Narshe Coward. I'll make it quick."

Retorts were useless at this point. I grit my teeth and shut my eyes, waiting for those rough, sharp spikes to issue the killing blows. Well, they'd kill me in full and not keep me alive, unlike that other unfortunate captive soul. It was a small silver lining at the end of this life tunnel. I held my breath.

_Good-bye…_

I expected Baokiydu to laugh and snicker, but he made grunts…as though he were attacked. I opened my eyes to behold an arrow stuck in his leg, another in his hip, and one in his shoulder. A fourth shot nailed his forearm. The orange skinned being with mismatched eyes staggered back and fell on his ass. His comrades uttered curses of surprise.

Could it be? I looked to the east, atop an incline. A team of chocobos had amassed, and in the lead was Edgar, fully armored, spear slung on his back, bow-gun in hand.

_change in n_

There he was, on the ground, snared by two stringy objects in the hands of some woman, a large-framed man ready to kill him. Had we been a moment later, the enemy would've succeeded. Twice now, we Returners had saved Leonard Gurosawn from certain death.

But he wasn't completely safe right now. He was in a downed position with the mysterious enemy enclosing him on three sides. One glance revealed they looked as dangerous as Leonard's brief radio transmission suggested, and equally bizarre. Some were armed troops atop strange beast mounts. Certain troops were a weird hybrid of human and creature. What were they, and what did they want?

There'd come a time for these questions. This op's objective was to rescue Leonard. More mounted Figaro troops joined me, including Gau, Locke, and Celes with crossbows of their own. Sabin and Terra likely had blitz moves for this occasion. With a steady firing team lined up, I raised my own auto-crossbow and gave the order. "Fire bolts at will."

Arrows rained down onto this strange hybrid party. The large creatures, mounted or not, were hit first. Some of the riders were also impaled with multiple arrows. I aimed at one particular target, an oddly-dressed woman with what looked like silvery flesh. She was holding the strings bounding Leonard. A bolt pierced the woman's naval, yet she stood firm. She was no ordinary human.

As I reloaded my piece, most of the living enemy troops pulled back their mounts. Others used the dead creature carcasses as shielding measures. Then, actual shields were employed, blocking out our volleys. As Figaro bolts were guarded by foreign shields, the enemy used such cover to shoot back. Arrows and rifle slugs came our way. The noises of squawking chocobos rang out. Now, our mounts were dying, including my own. My bird went down, two bolts piercing its neck. The enemy crafted a shield wall, and was moving toward us, while the shots continued.

"Defenses," I ordered. We'd prepared for this, carrying tower shields of our own. Dismounted Figaro troops grabbed some shields and formed a line, as the shielded enemy rushed our position. Since their ranks were moving, it would give Leonard a chance to escape.

_change in n_

Ms. Purple took two arrows in her stomach. That somehow loosened the grip of the slimy threads. They'd made it. The Returners were living up to their ever-heroic reputations.

Free of the sticky cords. I got back on my feet. Ms. Purple was preoccupied with her arrow wounds. I cut right and turned, intent on joining my friends from the side, as their front was pushing against a Nyufalng shield formation. A yard or so beyond me, the fat-assed Baokiydu was still pulling arrows from himself. Before he could react, I split. The time for payback would come.

I hoped to avoid any clashes. I was still their number one target, despite the Figaroan military presence. My death would render their efforts moot, and the secrets I learned would never leave this continent. As I neared the end of the conflict line, something landed at my feet. It looked like the barnacles that clung to walkway supports at waterfronts. Its exterior was light gray and crusty.

However, this object had several openings in the surface. Before I could move away, a brown mist erupted from the openings. The worst smell ever filled my nose. It was like garbage, dead fish, chocobo feces, and vinegar…_combined._ I was coughing like mad, and a foul taste violated my mouth, another display of functional Nyufalng grotesquery.

Though I coughed up excess phlegm, my vision did not blur, nor did my eyes tear up. I could see clearly. Someone in particular was coming after me, someone whose full name was familiar. Ajalni Voldruine sat on her specialized mount, the large, horned crocodile named Chithagu. The muscular beast had arrows stick in his back, side and tail. Another one was in his foot. The girl atop him though, was less wounded.

Ajalni drew an elliptical shield with spikes on its domed surface and a very exotic weapon that looked like a short spear, war hammer, and scythe blade all in one. Armed for bear, she leapt off the mount. The two converged on me from different angles, intent on boxing me in. "Oh yes Narshe Coward, run to your almighty friends," the teenager spat with venom fitting to someone twice her age. "But you can't run away this time."

I gripped Jelmz's axe. With a more versatile weapon and equally versatile shield, the edge in weaponry was definitely hers. But I couldn't back down now. The crocodile stood watch as the teen girl rolled her eyes and charged.

My eyes were on the shield and hammer-blade, but I noticed her subtly open hr mouth. Was this another insult?

That would've been preferable. Something jutted from her mouth, like a dark tree root with a spiked tip.

Well, she prided herself as being the 'foster niece' of the Nyufalng founders, in her own words. That she had a monster tongue made sense, for someone so close to the leaders of this movement.

Senses on high alert, I reached and _grabbed_ the long tongue. Even then, it squirmed under my grasp. I had one option. I raised the axe and chopped down.

Darkened blood poured about as the teenager shouted in agonized rage. "Fuck-lk you Narfshe Cowvard!" Distorted words escaped her mouth, along with more spurts of blood. I used the axe pommel to deliver a quick blow to the girl's jaw. She went down.

But my escape wasn't complete. The muscled crocodile Chithagu had me in his sights, and he looked more durable than his teenage mistress. It was time unleash that blitz I'd been planning, before the rescuers arrives. I had one chance only.

Breathing deep, I focused myself into the axe. Then the croc opened his mouth. It was time. I threw the charged axe into the creature's nose. It struck with a flash, forcing Chithagu to recoil backwards.

This was my opening to join the rescue party. It would not last long, not with three ranking Nyufalng members thirsting for my blood on a very personal level. I split.

_change in n_

"Now comes the real test Terra, recalling all I've taught you." Sabin's tone and words meant business. As Gau held a tower shield to deflect enemy projectiles, shielded foes stormed our position. The blitz master clapped his fists together. "Twin Aurabolts on my count. One…two…THREE!"

I focused all my energy into my left fist. The slivery green beam of spirit energy burst from my knuckles. Sabin's own shiny grey bolt wasn't much different.

The large handheld defenses offered no protection from our dual attack. The shielded enemies were thrown upwards and backwards, their shields dented. It was like a rail car had slammed into them. The shields broke on contact, and those behind them didn't get up.

A successful display, but not something I could call up so quickly next time. The enemy was smart, just as Leonard foreshadowed. A rifleman aimed his piece. I concentrated my reaction time now, studying when he'd fire the slug. The shot rang out, and I swatted the air with my scimitar's broadside. A metallic noise was head, and the gunner's eye exploded. He fell, inert. The nearest enemy flanks were either dead, or fighting our flanks elsewhere.

But had the enemy forgotten us. "Beast," called Gau, pointing at a strange creature that looked like a man with yellow skin, frontal horns that curves upwards, and sharp claws. He wore a dark green breast plate, wrist cuffs, and spiked shoulder guards. His lower body was furry around the waist, and he stood on four legs that resembled praying mantis legs.

This being was as freakish as he was threatening. A goddamn _log_ was in his hands. It surely weighed hundreds of pounds, but he carried it like it was a toy. That was menacing strength.

Sabin read my mind. "Twin blast once more. Ready Terra?"

"Ready." I clenched my fist to deal with this clear threat. We aimed as the charging creature. Two beams shot towards him…

…and did absolutely nothing. He was rather amused. "Are you tickling me? I can urinate with greater force." He raised the log, almost twenty feet in length, and swung widely.

Sabin and I were face down in the dirt immediately. But the log found a mark. Gau, with the large shield before him, couldn't duck in time. He was tossed back several feet on impact, and the beast was raising the log for a shot at Sabin and me.

Gazing at the foe, this strength and Aurabolt immunity made sense, somehow. Edgar had warned us of being with gems in their foreheads, relaying Leonard's message. This monster thing had such a gem set above his eyes, a shining green oval.

He raised his log weapon with intents of crushing us, but Sabin was on his feet as the wooden pole began its descent. I rolled and stood, in time to see the younger Figaro catch the log in his bare hands. He breathed deeply, then threw an uppercut. The log broke in half. "Got any more tricks you ugly son of a bitch. I have plenty."

The creature was hardly offended. In fact, he was even more entertained. "If I'm ugly, you're a fucking moron." The thing's voice was just as annoying, grating but not as low-pitched as one would expect. The creature had massive muscles. Only Sabin's were comparable.

Sabin didn't retort. He mind was clear of distractions. I held the scimitar firm, channeling my energy for a slash wave, something to strike from a distance. I wasn't going head-to-head with this being.

Sabin though, had different ideas. He rushed forward, side-kicking the foe in the midsection. The monster stepped back, but regained footing on all fours. I took the opening and threw the slash wave as he distanced himself from Sabin.

The wave cut into the monster's neck, but even that caused little more than a scratch. This thing was intensely strong and durable. Sabin cracked his knuckles and rushed the beast, throwing pummel after pummel. That finally drew some blood. The blitz master strafed around the foe, throwing front kicks and uppercuts from different angles, until the creature finally caught on. He squatted on all fours and threw an upper cut of his own. Sabin was thrown backwards, hitting the dirt and sliding. The blitz master was getting tossed about like a ragdoll. What chance did I, a blitz novice, have against this monstrosity?

Maybe there was hope. The monster was bleeding in several places from Sabin's fast, powerful Bum Rush assault. He was facing serious opposition, and knew it. "Nice trick, but I got something that'll really make you shit…as in shit your intestines out your anus."

The stone in his forehead glowed bright. I joined Sabin, who hadn't stood up yet. In fact, I myself was having trouble staying on my feet, as if my own weight was pulling me down. In seconds, I could barely lift my arm. A moment passed, and my body started aching all over. Sabin shared this misfortune. "What the hell?" His voice was strained.

"Not so tough now, eh Returner shit?" the creature gloated. "It's called a gravity well, and it's my specialty. Sure it won't cause a dip in the land masses, but you'll feel, shall I say, _crushed_ when you realize how fragile you are inside of it."

I was now getting dizzy. I hadn't felt this overwhelmed since fighting the eight elemental dragons before taking on Kefka. This monster definitely ranked high with those dragons, in terms of powers and devastating abilities.

I had to try grabbing my sword, even if my own body weight was holding me down and my head was aching. I stared at the laughing beast, focusing what energy I could. Then, a round object rolled next to his legs, a metallic egg.

Green gas erupted from the object. The creature stopped laughing, and the artificial gravity pull was gone. The beast made choking sounds as the gas cloud enveloped him. He began gagging and vomiting as his legs gave way.

"Pull back!" It was Gau, wielding one of the new gas grenade launchers. The young man was definitely cut out for the army.

I stood up with Sabin, who spared the monster one last glance. The beast had fled the gas cloud, still puking and staggering about. He was still alive and conscious, even though Edgar's bio-gas bombs could poison a man to death thrice over. Well, this ugly freak was no human, but he was hardly invulnerable.

Sabin, grabbed my hand. "Gau's just a Private, but that's advice I'll heed. C'mon Terra. Let's retreat. This isn't a fight to prolong."

"Great idea, especially with that ugly thing about." I followed the blitz master. Happily, the quadruped thing didn't follow us.

_change in n_

Locke held his tower shield firm as the enemy charged our position. I also held a shield, as did Paul Edderbricht next to me.

Locke pulled a discus blade from his coat. His throwing weapon glowed, absorbing his essence. With the shield before himself, he threw the bladed ring. It slammed into one of the enemy guard shields, denting the protection and cutting a hole in the surface, a hole that smoldered at the rim. The shield stopped moving and fell over, as did the woman who carried it. The enemy didn't stop though, and closed the space where she once stood.

Obviously, Locke didn't have enough discs and boomerangs to take out the whole shield wall, and imbuing his energy into one didn't come instantly. We held gripped our shields, prepared to deal in melee blows…until something exploded against Paul's shield. I spared a peek around my own. Fiery objects were being tossed our way, literally. I looked for something to suggest otherwise, like a cannon barrel or monster, but certain enemies was reaching around their shields with _their bare hands,_ the flaming objects bursting from their palms. The objects looked like flaming tumors.

Their nature and cause was irrelevant. This freakish spectacle was equally formidable. My shield vibrated from each 'bomb', and it was getting hot. If it didn't give out, I'd have to discard it, lest I burn my hand.

Even Locke, with his combat gloves, was feeling this hazard. "Swell. What now? We can't hold this line much longer." He glanced at Paul, the closest ranking officer.

"They'll destroy our shields with their…specialties, so we'll have to destroy theirs, again." With one hand, the Lieutenant drew his long mace. "We rush them on my word, then we strike at close range."

"Alright, if that's the plan." Being an ex-Imperial General, I had no arguments against Paul's measure. Locke drew his Atma, and my Strato was already up for the kill.

On Paul's word, we charged, moving ahead of the nearest shielded Figaro troops. The enemy kept advancing. "Now," ordered Paul, throwing his flaming shield against the enemy line, both hands on his mace. He pushed forward, a whitish glow surrounding the weapon. The first shield enemy was thrown backwards, with the shield almost broken in half. Paul then pushed the mace head to his right, nailing another opponent through the opening he'd made.

Locke rushed past me, Atma weapon in hands, and leapt. The icy blue broadsword came down, splitting a shield down the middle, far enough to cut the wielder's head from crown to nose. Now it was my turn. Shock was good against larger groups of close-up foes. I dodged more flame bombs as my sword radiated my soul energy. With a mighty war cry and chop, I swung out. Pinkish flecks of light marked contact with enemy defenses. Some of the shield carriers were thrown back. Others had their protection split open, with breaks in their armor and stomachs following suit. One of them fell over, his shield landing on him. I stepped in and thrust under the shield, stabbing the man's neck.

With huge gaps between the remaining shield troops, they were easily dispatched. We struck before they could reform the broken defense line, all without using follow-up energy techniques.

The nearby opposition was dead, but we didn't relax. We had to prepare for the unexpected. Sure enough, something ensnared Paul's right wrist. It looked slimy and long, and familiar.

Yes, this was the same object that held Leonard as we approached not a moment too soon. The string lead to the hand of that same woman. She was tall with long brown hair, clad scantily in Capri pants and a midriff top. If this wasn't bizarre, her flesh was a colorless gray, and her eyes a luminescent gold void of features. They shined like mirrors.

She was one of them, one of those Edgar had warned us about, echoing Leonard's message. A purple oval was fixed to the woman's forehead, flashing brilliantly. The unexpected was here, pulling the Lieutenant off balance.

A second slime glop hung off the woman's free hand, colored a dark purple, much different than the slime cord's grayish purple. Did its different color suggest a different function? She threw the dark blob before Locke or I could react.

It splashed on the mace handle, just above Paul's hand. "Shit!" growled the officer. His pained voice spurred me to action. I rushed in and chopped the slimy cable, freeing the 1Lt. But the damage was done. The skin on Paul's hand was dried out, to the point of cracking and bleeding. His mace handle was heavily rusted, and snapped under the mace head's weight. The dark shit was caustic slime!

Locke slashed about with Atma in his left hand. These dramatics were but a diversion. I saw his right hand reach for his belt, drawing a boomerang. In a flash, the C-shaped projectile was thrown, hitting the woman's throat.

She coughed, but stood tall, pulling out the weapon. A normal person would be on the ground bleeding to death, at most. But she gave no hint of lost stamina, despite having a second injury around her belly button.

I would've questioned her durability, but given Edgar's warning about the gem-headed beings, this made sense, minimally. She spun the remains of her light pink slime cable and swung at Locke, whipping him across the face. He yowled and fell over.

I called his name, and the woman took note of me. A second pinkish string oozed from her right hand. The light pink substance was both elastic and adhesive. "Oh, General Celes Chere. Welcome back to the continent of your birth." She smiled in utter mockery.

"Fuck you!" I shouted, catching myself. This was a battle, the worst place to lose my temper. I had to give her all I had, which meant a dose of Shock. It wasn't wasteful to use Shock on a single foe when the foe in question was _this_ dangerous. I concentrated, filtering out the slimy strands whipping through the air, not to mention her taunts. "Oh, you hate me? Then come get me."

I stepped up on guard, eyeing the passes of each blob whip. As I closed the distance, I miscalculated one of the string movements. It wrapped around my ankles tightly, allowing the sliver-skinned woman to pull me down on my ass. Before I could register the impact against my buttocks, the second cord encircled my neck. I could feel it digging in, almost like a garrote.

It was now or never. I sat up and thrust out. Shock did its thing. The woman was blown back from the energy force. Her short tank top was totally shredded in the process. While she didn't have armor, with caustic acid and that strange durability, she didn't _need_ armor.

The goop stands were also ripped apart by the Shock move. I pulled the remains off my neck and feet. As I stood, Locke joined me, a long deep incision bleeding on his cheek. "C'mon. Let's move."

"Right." I stared after the gray-skinned slime woman. She'd moved back beyond the dead enemy ranks, by her own volition or my sword technique. Would even that keep her down?

Behind us was Paul, holding the two halves of his broken mace. "What the hell is she?"

"I don't really know." Locke wiped at his cheek. "A women with a jewel in her forehead and slime powers. Not an esper. I'm sure of that."

I looked back. "Whatever she is, she's not coming back for more. I put the hurt on, for now. Let's patch those wounds."

_change in n_

Enemy projectiles bashed against the shields of Ziegfried and me. I looked at Deanne, setting up the lightning gun between us. "Sarholme, how go the artillery preparations?"

"It's ready, King Edgar." The female soldier took aim with the gun, giving it the first battlefield usage. "Fire at will?"

"Fire at will." I gave the command as more flaming bombs blew apart against my tower shield. Flames and smoke were billowing up on the other side, one more reason this could not become a drag-out fight.

The lightning cannon's barrel crackled and spewed forth a brilliant white zigzag. The electrical charge nailed various shielded foes, tossing them back or plowing them down. As they were arranged side-by-side in a single row, Deanne turned the weapon to strike additional targets.

By now, the enemy had gotten smart. The flaming bombs were aimed upwards, flying over our heads. The new aim literally reached around our defense line. Some of the flames wads flew overhead, landing behind us and exploding.

"Damn it!" shrieked the Lieutenant. A quick glance revealed flames around her boot. She pulled back, and in doing so knocked the lightning gun off its tripod. Two more fire balls zoomed in, slamming into the toppled, unprotected cannon. As flames swelled up, the gun's electronics began sparking. Then, the unit blew apart.

"Shit!" Now it was Ziegfried cursing. Shrapnel from the exploding blaster had nailed his hip and waist. He crouched, trying to pull out the deformed metal fragments. "Don't mind me Edgar. I've been through worse at the arena. Stop the enemy."

I followed his gesture. The opposition's remains were advancing quickly. I found two charging shield carriers. Their flaming tumors had ceased, and they had drawn swords. Would my Dragoon talents hold up under fire? I'd find out.

I threw the burning shield into the enemy's path, causing one of them to sway unevenly. Imbuing energy into my Aura Lance, I gauged the second foe. The spear was resonating, and I fell to a kneeling position, thrusting at the large shield. It was impaled in a shower of light effects, and the man behind it was gored clean through. I yanked out my weapon as the first assailant regained his footing. Seeing a gap below his shield, I swung out, tripping the enemy. He fell atop his defense. I rose, stabbing downward into his back. So far, so good.

"Edgar Roni, or should I say, Edgar _phony._" A suave and slightly nasal voice called my name with deliberate mockery. I faced a tall man with long dark hair dressed in some ethnic-looking garb. His eyes flashed silver, and a jewel in his forehead flashed blue.

This was no time for verbal comebacks. Leonard warned me about such beings in this opposition. One of them wanted a piece of me. I spun the lance and swung at him with a high right cross.

He didn't evade, and lifted his hand casually. My Aura Lance stopped dead. This man was guarding my pole arm _with his bare hand_. Or was he? His hand looked blurry, as if something around his palm and fingers was halting my strike. Leonard vaguely suggested the jewel-headed beings were very powerful. This man was using such a power, whatever it could be.

With his free hand, the man punched forth, his fist blurred by air or energy of his making. I shoved the lance's butt into his fist, blocking the strike. But I still felt the pressure of this blow, vibrating through the spear shaft. From his garb, I theorized this man was a super-powered martial artist of sorts, much like Sabin's jealous rival Vargas, or that old Zozo crime lord Dadaluma.

I stepped back to give myself spacing. "Is that your best?" asked the strange man tauntingly. "Some ruler you are."

I clenched my teeth, but held back on counter commentary. I knew nothing of this enemy, yet he knew plenty about me. It was an ironic consequence to Returner fame. Secrecy was hard to find with reps like ours.

But I still had military secrets. Training as a Dragoon was one of them. I had to give this foe my all. Heavy opponents required heavy techniques. I once again charged my essence into the Aura Lance, this time for longer.

The lance was ready for a real shot at this strange man, just in time. He stepped in, closing the gap between us. I raised my weapon and pushed out…or tried to. My lance was stuck, stopped dead once more, despite the heavy charge of soul energy within. The man raised both his hands, and a huge blur formed around between him and the spearhead.

"What the hell?" I couldn't ask much else. The transparent blur was like a solid wall, pushing against my lance. When the man crossed his wrists, I knew he'd shove the blurry mass into my face, thanks to intuition born of countless life-or-death conflicts.

Using my Dragoon boots, I jumped back, adding space once more. Sure enough, the blurry object came my way. I blocked it with the charged Aura Lance, losing the charge in the process. Wind blew in my face as the blur was deflected.

"Not bad, but I'm not done yet." The enemy stretched his arms, causing more blurs to mask his hands. I had to charge my lance again. As I did this, the enemy approached for another shot. "Lazy motherfucker. Don't keep me waiting."

This wasn't mere trash talk. He knew I was King of Figaro, and talked down on me regardless. He presumed himself superior to me, and knowing little about him, I had to concede this point. But I could equal him at the very least. Ignoring the arrogance, I raised me spear for another pass, a quicker one, but less powerful.

As blurs marked his fingers, I thrust at his upper leg. The jagged spear tip went into his thigh. He snarled, but didn't give in. "Impressive, but not good enough for the likes of me. Try this."

I pulled out the spear and braced for another blurry impact. Yet the man stood there, making neither hand nor foot motions. As I charged more energy, something caught in my throat. I coughed out, but inhaling was suddenly difficult, forcing me to cough again.

I staggered back, one hand on my neck. "Awe, did I take your breath away, your royal _lowness?_ So much for royal power of authority." The man folded his arms, mocking my noble lineage once more. He didn't fear my nobility.

I sagged to my knees, tuning out his next barbs, still gripping the Aura Lance. I grudgingly admitted this man could write off my wealthy heritage, but my lancing talents would be something else completely. There was enough charge in the spear, and it was my best option out of this…chokehold. Still on my knees, I grabbed the lance and aimed for his stomach. There was no blur, and perhaps no 'shield' to guard him. I shoved the lance at the mark.

Gold abstracts of light circled the spear as the tip found it target. There was a loud bang as the strange man was thrown back to the dead enemy corpses behind. Was he dead? Could he survive the attack without injury?

The air was breathable once more. I inhaled quickly, sweating. My vision spun a little, partly from air deprivation, partly from overexertion in channeling my essence. The man rolled over on the ground, injured but alive. As long he didn't come back for seconds, I'd stray from him.

"Edgar!"

Blood pumping madly, I check my right.

"I'm here. Let's shove." A sweating, disheveled Leonard Gurosawn stood before me, smiling. There he was, out from the enemy ranks, which we dismembered to ensure his escape.

A quick glance revealed no advancing shield lines. We had a chance to retreat with our friend in tow, before the gem-headed man and his peers came back to finish the job, with or without reinforcements. "Long time no see old friend." I patted his back. "We'll catch up later. There's a cargo airship not far to the east. Let's be off."

He smiled in agreement. I rejoined Deanne and Ziegfried, who'd patched up their wound temporarily. A clinic visit was required back home. I found a Sergeant who grabbed a voice amplifier and ordered a retreat.

We regrouped in seconds. Amazingly, we didn't lose any troops in this clash, though we had plenty of injuries and several dead chocobos. Gau claimed he'd broken a hand bone or two, Paul's hand was bleeding, and Locke's check was slit open. Using the remaining mounts, we saddled up two per ride, Leonard riding with me.

We hit the enemy hard and fast, when they didn't expect it, when they were not at their strongest. We'd cleanly won this first battle with this nameless foe. Leonard would tell his tale soon enough.

Back at the cargo ship, there were two beast creatures…and several troops standing over them. The monsters were dead. Setzer and a company stayed behind to guard the vessel. As we rode up, the gambler explained that something tried tampering with the vessel engines. A quick glance revealed the monsters were Ultros and Chupon, who once again tried sabotaging one of our vessels.

But this time, they failed. Because cargo ships were government property, they boasted certain assets the Falcon did not. Sensors watched the engines for any oddities. The presence of the two creatures close to the munitions alerted Setzer and the military crew. They went out and exterminated the beastly duo, much to the gambler's enjoyment. For him, it was payback for killing his customers and sabotaging the Falcon in Olistes several months back.

Still, why were they down here?

We filed into the airships cargo bay. As we dismounted, Terra rushed over to Leonard and gave him a kiss. Her arms encircled him, and he returned the affection. He'd been missing for just over two weeks, and his fate remained known until a couple hours back.

Sabin and Locke were the next to offer him welcoming gestures, followed by Celes. The cargo hatch was closed and Setzer announced takeoff. As she ship started lifting, Locke massaged his bleeding face. "So, who the fuck are they?"

No one expected an answer but Leonard provided one. "Nyufalng. They call themselves the Nyufalng. I spent time amongst them, and learned they took down the old House of Albrook, and Tzen's House Virnone. They even killed Maranda's Duke earlier today. That's why they were beaten back so easily. They're tired."

"Easily?" questioned Locke. "Well, we avoided casualties, I guess, for now."

"They conquered all three all three city-states down here?" Celes inquired.

"Conquered may not be the proper term, but they wiped out the three major governments." Leonard's finger pointed at me. "I believe you're next on their shit list."

All eyes were now in me. I gulped down hard. I knew so little, but needed to know quite a lot. "You need to provide answers at an official meeting."

"I need sleep, and food, and a bath wouldn't hurt. But yes," conceded the Narshean. "I expected as much. In fact," He looked at Sabin "I need to speak with you, one-on-one."

The ship was heading back north as my brother scratched his head. "Me? Okay." The two headed for an empty corner in the vessel.

_change in s & n_

"WE ALMOST HAD HIS ASS!" Baokiydu shouted, his rage echoing off the domed ceiling of Yithadri's quarters.

After this defeat, a land cruiser left Albrook to pick us up. We loaded up our dead and boarded for the town. Unfortunately, the Narshe Coward's body was not in our possession.

The Sensorian cut off his irate rants. The arrow wounds all along his left side still bled here and there, and he turned his attention to them. Qaurjaeda resumed the bitching. "First, that little pecker escapes behind our backs. Then, he escapes before our eyes. What's that say for who we are?" He was gagging once more, a consequence of the biggest wound he incurred during the fight.

"Well, we knew they were pros." Sdalsyra leaned against the central platform's railing. A large bandage was tied around her midsection like a strapless top. "Should we be surprised at this outcome?"

"Perhaps not," Yithadri stated, observing her mystics bring our deceased inside the chamber.

Dyal'xern massaged his blood-soaked leg. "Easy for you to say. You didn't get your ass whooped by the Narshe Coward lovers."

"But this defeat is only temporary," advised the Shamaness. "Yes, it was very inconvenient for them to strike at such a precise time, but we've learned a few things about their talents, things we didn't know before."

My tongue had mended itself back, but my jaw still hurt like a bitch. Opening my mouth to speak was more than uncomfortable. Likewise, Chithagu's snout was still bleeding slightly. However, he could talk without pains. "Nosey still cramp. I wants to get Narshe Coward for axe hit Ajalni."

"Look at this way. We knew this would happen. It was on our agenda." Ruqojjen approached the platform. "This evening's battle has merely hastened the inevitable."

"Hi boss." Dyal'xern removed his shirt and pointed at his stomach bruise. "We've all joined your injury club, thanks to them getting the first blow, and the first win."

"What now?" asked Qaurjaeda between shallow breaths. "They know about us. That Narshe Coward will spill whatever he learned, and our secrets will be out."

"Not all our secrets. We still have something they don't know about." Ruqojjen's face was void of emotion. "For now anyway."

"For now," Sdalsyra echoed. "How long will that last?" As she spoke, a hooded cleric motioned for the Honored Shamaness. It was the Moihzadu. The Corrodess acknowledged him. "You were right. They're a force to be reckoned with. Your explanation with was dead on, and they've gotten more capable since."

"In tech and talent perhaps, but their cause and manifestos are just as pathetic," said the Moihzadu in a voice not much louder than whispering. He pointed to doors leading outside.

"That's not very helpful right now, but I'll keep that in mind," Baokiydu relaxed his perforated left arm. "You know them better than we do, Goda-Gorshim."

Goda-Gorshim the Moihzadu said nothing and departed the platform with Yithadri. "We've lost various troops and creations, including Uletarsji and Chiupanghow," noted Dyal'xern. We found their bodies not far from the battlefield. "How much longer before these overblown hypocrites pull their next move?"

"First, their friend has to share his discoveries." Ruqojjen sat on the large pillow he'd used earlier. "While he does, we can learn a few more things about them, and make their lives even more miserable, as we've done recently."

Tanrevilt. That was the only possibility reference by the High Shenthaxa. Our next move relied greatly on Tanrevilt's.

Sireck and Edrina, House Virnone, and Duke Sindreo were all no more. Now, the more important fight would begin.

_A/N: Because of the length and complexity of this story up till now, I am going to divide it into two books. Because the story's tone will be very different from here on, this lengthy chapter brings book one to an explosive, much-anticipated conclusion. I'd like to thank all of you who've read up to this point, whether you've left reviews or otherwise. Take this opportunity to review any parts of the story you felt were standout or extraordinary to you, if you've not so already. I also look forward to your thoughts and predictions on how the characters of the two opposing groups should/would interact in future clashes. Ideas are welcome._

_Until then, stay tuned for book two, Final Fantasy 6-The Divine's Embrace…_


End file.
